Heaven Freezes, Hell Closes
by x-posed-again
Summary: In a time devastated by war it takes everything you have just to survive.  [MFxOW]  [WIP]
1. Chapter 1

**Intro:**

There comes a day when everyone has a choice to make. Lines must be drawn and sides have to be picked. No one will ask you if you're ready- instead opting to rip the last small fragment of security out from under you.

There comes an hour when you will stand with your brothers and fight for the only thing that will help this world make sense to you. You will claw your way forward, bleeding for every inch, killing for every mile that moves you forward because what better life to fight for than your own?

The time eventually comes when you stop hoping for your future and you start praying for the meek because in the end only the ones too afraid to fight will survive- all the brave killed off by time and cruses.

When the time comes- who will you stand with?

**Chapter 1: Live wire/Fire starter**

In the light of the fading sun he couldn't even make out his own shadow. The lines of his legs slowly faded away below him and he had to shift his weight from side to side to reassure himself he was on sold ground. He looked around. Nothing to his left, nothing to his right. The thick night air hung in a cloudy haze before pooling at his feet. It swirled around in ribbons of whites, grays and blacks. He could feel it, the shear weight of his work pushing down on his shoulders threatening to break him. All of the words, the memories- they rattled around his head and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, silently willing the screaming in his mind to stop.

"This is it," he thought to himself. "Another chance to live or die… my life… my choices this time."

With a solitary mental step he took his place, nerves shaking him to his core. He looked so lost, eyes red and tear stained against the night sky. No one could see his face of course- all emotions hid behind layers of porcelain and façade. In the distance voices rolled over the hills and echoed off the trees. The sounds of drowning souls lost adrift and mourning those already fallen. It was a somber dirge carried on the wings of a cold night breeze as they lay and wait.

The night was dead, but the sky was alive with burning green light and he had to shut his eyes to block out the blur of green, black and death. The outlines of a skull still lingered behind his eyelids.

This night, this dark night of nights felt different as if he was walking towards his own funeral. And he would be if he didn't keep his cool. This was no time for games, only shear and utter confidence would do in this situation.

He inhaled deeply. Every breath matters when it could be your last. He was here- in the middle of war, the middle of death, the middle of hell. The life he was living no longer belonged to him- it belonged to them. It was the dark that now owned his soul. It didn't matter what anyone tired to tell him or how important anyone who really knew his job tried to make him seem or the false sense of protection any of them offered- he was owned. Owned by a life he chose, a path he laid for himself that now had to be walked. He was no longer a person, just a body for one side and a source of information to the other- a mess of jumbled numbers and letters. If they ever found out- if they ever figured out that he didn't… that he was… they would kill him. The thought ran a shiver down his spine.

Too late now- there were no choices left for him to make- the decisions had been made a long time ago, nothing to lose by what he was about to do. Eyes closed tight, the words a solemn whisper from his lips. Open your eyes and fight.

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Oliver's head was swimming. Every heartbeat pulsed inside his skull, every second felt like mounting pressure behind his eyes as he struggled to stay awake and upright in his chair. Last night marked another sleepless night for him- having stayed up all night with the Order discussing plans and new courses of action. It was a small price to pay really, but it was hard to remember that when his body felt like it was slowly shutting down on him. The bags under his eyes hung in heavy shades of purple as a shaky hand struggled to hold his notes in front of him. A mug stained with too much coffee and not enough washing was perched closely at his right. Drinking the damned stuff was an annoying habit he picked up soon after joining the Ministry. He had tried like hell to keep his normal daily routine- up early, morning workout, healthy breakfast, work, home, plenty of rest. It worked out fine for the fist few months until he got more involved with the Order.

After Dumbledore's death things went from bad to worse and monthly meetings became weekly and then daily. Feeling helpless Oliver had volunteered to help out on secret missions- mostly night- that led into day- which left little time for sleep. Sometimes he couldn't remember which he was doing work for- they Ministry or the Order- both lines blurring together in a mess of secrets and undercover work. The Order was, in fact, the reason he got his gig at the Ministry. There was an opening for an information trafficker of sorts. They needed someone reliable with no obvious ties to the Aurors and the Order wanted someone who could pass along vital information to them without being suspected. It was an easy fit. Who would suspect a quidditch obsessed Captain from Puddlemear United forced out of the game by the war? Oliver's real motive behind it all was purely quidditch based. The more good he could do the quicker the season could start back up- so he agreed.

The job was fairly simple. It was Oliver's responsibility to meet with undercovers the Ministry had in place. It was simple because all he had to do was collect their reports, take down additional information they gave him and pass it along to the appropriate people. He never knew their names- only regarding them as the number letter combination they came pre-assigned with, their bodies and faces always hidden by dark robes, hoods and shadows. Oliver was sure it was some kind of concealment spell meant to make them look intimidating. When it came down to it, Oliver really didn't know anything about them other than what he needed to get the job done.

He was surprised at how easy the transition had been. Oliver had always had an obsessive personality. He poured himself heart and soul into quidditch- when that was taken away it was almost as if a piece of him had died. The job had just been something to fill time and a way to repay some kind of debt he felt to the people that had risked their lives for the magical community over the years. Once he started Oliver found himself pouring more and more time and energy into his work and reports. Wanting to be as diligent as possible he would often stay late working well into the early hours of the morning. Soon playbooks became file folders, moves became identification numbers and the intensity he showed on the pitch came to light at the Ministry. He was tenacious, never letting one of the undercovers make excuses for a failed job, forgotten information and especially not for breaking the rules. Maybe that is why the Order thought he would be so perfect of the position. On the pitch rules were in place to keep everyone safe, to give everyone a level playing field. The same went for his work, undercovers were not to give information to anyone but him. This job was his lifeblood now- this- and only this- is what kept him grounded.

Oliver blinked rapidly trying to draw the file in front of him into focus. He needed to concentrate. He was convinced that he could learn everything he needed to know about an undercover in the first five minutes. Their attitude, demeanor- it was all laid out before him in a nice neat little package. All he had to do was look. It was almost a blessing really that he didn't get to know them by looks or name- no way to pass any kind of judgment. Their personalities and their work were forced to shine through- nothing left to hide behind.

Looking back down at the folder the black letters and numbers typed on the front stood out loud and clear: A1171975. Why couldn't they have easy codes to remember or colors for that reason? The only way he could ever tell them apart was a simple two step process: 1- was the person male or female, 2- the notes he wrote about each of them in their personnel files. He would store his own collection of notes and remarks about them in there along with all of their reports. It was the only way he could remember who gave him what information.

Oliver dealt with all sorts of undercovers. Most were fairly mundane- they became the eyes and ears of the Ministry out on the world, picking up on conversations in Hogsmeed and Knockturn Alley. Some worked in the shops that Death Eaters were known to frequent. Oliver even had one who was a nanny in the house of Death Eater. Undercovers never knew about each other of course- secrecy was of utmost importance. Oliver half expected one of the undercovers to come in and talk about a conversation they heard another undercover having- hadn't happened yet, but he knew they must have all crossed paths at one time or another.

This new one- this was different. His new case was an actual informant hidden deep within the Death Eater ranks. Placed there months ago they had been collecting information from within. Scuffling shoes out in the hallway quickly caught his attention and he laid the file back down. Leaning back in his chair Oliver drained his mug right as the handle of his door rattled and then turned. The heavy wood was pushed back far enough to allow a woman to stick her head in.

"Your new one is here." She smiled sweetly as he spoke.

"Ya- alright." Oliver replied, setting his mug down and crossing his arms.

She flashed him another smile before opening the door wide and pointing inside. The hooded figured stepped in and Oliver had to mentally check his laughter- an inappropriate response to a heavy stressed situation.

"So- are you…" Oliver paused, glancing down at the file again. "A1171975?"

The figured laughed, folding his arms over his chest. "Ya- sure- if that's who you want me to be then that's who I am."

"I don't want you to be anyone." Oliver retorted, annoyance punctuating his tone. "I need you to be A1171975 or else you need to get out of my office." Oliver leaned in resting his arms on the desk. "Understood?"

The man leaned back in his chair until it rested on the two back legs and raised his own legs until his heals rested on Oliver's desk. "Sure man, whatever you say."

Oliver couldn't help but smirk as he opened the man's file.

"Something funny?" The figured asked kicking his heals off the desk and slamming the chair back down.

"You're new," Oliver shook his head as he reached for his pen. Looking up he spoke again. "It will wear off."

"What will?"

"The attitude- I've seen it time and time before you. Coming in here thinking you are tuff shit, thinking you know much the Ministry needs you- Merlin's gift to Aurors. Trust me… this place… this job… it will wear on you." Oliver reached for his mug again and frowned once he remembered it was empty.

"Is that what happened to you?"

Oliver grabbed his wand and tapped it against the side of the mug, feeling relived as steam started to pour out of it. "Nothing happened to me."

"Sure it didn't- this is your dream job, the one you have always wanted- stuck in a small office, dealing with people like me day in and day out, living off of coffee just to stay awake." Oliver's grip on the mug's handle tightened. "It's all right there on your face man. I've been there too." His voice suddenly became a mere whisper. "I've been there too."

"Well then-" Oliver took a moment to squelch the venomous words rising in his throat. "Since you have me all figured out what do you say we work on you?"

The man looked around the room as he spoke. "Sure thing sport."

Oliver picked up his pen again and poised it over the paper. "For the record, please state your Ministry assigned designation number."

"Do you really want to go there again?" The figured was looking at an old quidditch photo Oliver had hanging on the wall as he spoke, slowly running his finger over the frame.

Oliver glared up at the other man without ever raising his head.

A loud sigh accompanied his answer, "A1171975."

"This says you haven't filed your report." Oliver could feel the pounding in head starting to come back. He pushed his palm against his temple and closed his eyes. "Why haven't you filed your report?"

"Didn't know I had to." He whipped around and sat back down in the chair across from Oliver's desk.

"Bull shit. Look-" Oliver stood up, kicking his chair back behind him. "There are a few things you have to do here. You have to stay anonymous, you have to talk to me, and you have to file your reports."

The man leaned in towards Oliver. Resting his elbows on his legs he began to wring his hangs. "And just why… exactly… do I have to talk to you?"

Oliver dropped the pen on his desk and ran both hands through is hair. This was becoming not only frustrating, but also a huge waste of his time. He turned his back to the man and looked out the charmed window-the one luxury he was provided. It wasn't a real window of course- just a charm to make the wall look like it had one. He could change it to reflect whatever weather he felt like and looking out on the warm grassy meadow he could feel his nerves returning to normal.

"You have to talk with me…" Oliver turned and faced the man again. "Because I am the only link, the only contact you will ever have with the Aurors as an undercover. The less they know about you the better. Talking with me assures anonymity. I take all your reports, all the information you give me and pass it along. I make sure they don't know who you are- because if they know who you are they could abuse that information, something could leak out and if that happens- you are as good as dead."

"So you don't trust them then- is that it?"

Oliver smirked back at the man. "What's your name?" He asked, grabbing his chair and sitting back down at his desk.

"My name is-"

"You see." Oliver quickly cut him off. Leaning back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, he finished his thought. "It's not them I don't trust- it's you."

The other man halted- frozen by the fear of almost giving up his identity.

"Now," Oliver asked, suddenly feeling empowered. "Where in the hell is my report?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: ****If you diggin' the scene/If you feelin' the vibe**

Oliver groaned and ran his hands down his face. He looked at the clock then over to the stack of papers on his desk and then back at the clock _fuck it_. He quickly grabbed his coat from the hook behind the door and swung it over his shoulders. This day had been long enough. And to top it all off the Ministry had to throw in some cocky son of a bitch to mess up his system. _It's like they fucking enjoy being difficult_. Oliver hated outliers. They always had to throw everything off.

Before walking out of his office he flicked his wand at the door sealing it with wards and charms against any intruders. Even thou the Ministry was packed with Aurors night and day you could never be too careful, especially in his line of work. Down the long hallway- with a stop at the security checkpoint, out the door and onto number twelve, Grimmauld Place. One day down, another just starting.

It was a cold day out, the kind where the wind chills you down to your very core. Oliver walked towards the house with his coat pulled up around his face He apperated in a few blocks away- just to be safe, and was now regretting that decision. His cheeks stung, his nose was starting to run and his lungs burned with every breath he took. The ends of his scarf flew widely in the breeze and Oliver had to wrestle them back into his coat before the whole thing blew away.

"Wonderful fucking end to a wonderful fucking day," he grumbled to himself as he took the front steeps of the house two at a time. Reaching the front door he looked around before pulling his wand out of his jacket pocket. He pointed it at the lock and waited for the telltale "click" before pushing on the handle and walking in.

Warm air and the smells of a home cooked meal smacked him in the face as he entered and his stomach growled in response. It was only now that Oliver realized he had forgotten to eat lunch- a fairly common occurrence for him these days. The house was full of noise and people, but for some reason Oliver didn't really mind it. In fact, it was almost comforting. Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen, Ron, Harry and Hermione plotting something by the fireplace, the twins reeking havoc on someone with a new concoction they brewed up for their store. He loved all of it. It was the only place that made sense to him any more, the only time he ever really felt at home.

The sound of laughter drifted in from the kitchen and Oliver immediately recognized the voice. He took his coat off and hung it and his scarf on the coat rack. Stepping into the kitchen he was expecting to be greeted by the sight of long blonde hair, what he wasn't expecting was to find Katie Bell giggling like a Gryffindor second year over some boy.

"Ollie! Your home!" Katie jumped up and ran over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Katie and Oliver had been fast friends ever since their days in Gryffindor together. Her first day at the castle she fell down and skinned her knee, Oliver found her and took to the hospital wing. That day he promised her that he would never let anything hurt her again. After Katie was attacked Oliver went to see her everyday in the hospital. He never really got over the guilt he felt. There was nothing he could have done, everyone told him that. He wasn't in school any more and couldn't watch out for her all the time, but he still felt like he let her down. It wasn't long after she graduated that she joined the Order- a fact Oliver was both proud of and worried about it. He liked having her close, made it a lot easier to keep and eye on her. What he didn't like was having her in the line of danger.

"What took you so long?" She asked giving him a stern look.

"Work ran over," he rolled his eyes as he spoke. "Some ignorant new guy…. why do I always get the assholes?"

"They just know how good you are at what you do. You can handle anyone," she replied. "And you really need to stop working so late Ollie; it's not good for you."

"Ya- sure." He smiled at her before noticing a pair of deep brown eyes glancing over her shoulder from the other side of the kitchen. He started at the other man, locking eyes from across the room.

Marcus Flint felt his stomach drop the instant his eyes locked with Oliver's. Despite the cool air seeping in from the window in the kitchen he suddenly felt feverish. He was instantly thankful his cheeks were still wind burned from his walk in a few minutes ago so no one would notice the flush slowly crawling up his skin.

"Ollie…" Katie said, trying to regain his attention as he stared intently at the other boy. "Hey- Ollie!"

"Ya?" He answered back in a cool tone, refocusing his attentions onto her. Katie started at him for a moment before turning around to look at Marcus- who looked, at that moment, extremely uncomfortable in his own skin.

"Are you alright?" She asked, moving over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

His mouth felt dry as he tried to form the words. "Um," he slowly moved away from her touch. "Not sure- I- I think I'm going to go lay down."

Marcus quickly turned on his heals and headed upstairs.

"Marcus!" Katie yelled after him, but to no avail.

A small laugh came from behind Katie and she turned around to find Oliver shaking his head. "What the hell is his problem?" He asked grinning to himself.

"I don't know, and wipe that stupid grin off of your face," she scolded. "It's sick how much you enjoy his discomfort."

"What's sick is you fawning over him like some second year," he retorted with a sharp tone.

"I'm _not_ fawning."

"Sure your not," he rolled his eyes at her again. "Why is he here anyway?"

"He wants to help Oliver," she got quite as she spoke. "You should at least understand that."

"Ya well I don't take well to coattail riders," he walked out of the kitchen as he spoke. "Especially ones that pop up out of the blue."

Katie shot him a stern look.

"Ugh- forget this. It's been a long day, I'm going to take a shower."

The house was quite large, filled with room after empty room. With so many meetings and on goings at the house it was only natural that Oliver started to take up residence here. He kept his own apartment- the mail had to go somewhere and he needed a permanent residence that didn't cause suspicion, but most of the time it was just easier to be here. Reaching his bedroom Oliver quickly unlocked it with his wand and then slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned his back up against the door and laid his hands over his face.

"Fuck," he breathed out through closed fingers. Groaning he thumped the back of his head against the door. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

With a loud exasperated sigh he walked towards the bathroom. What he needed to do was take a hot shower and hope that today would wash away down the drain. Well- what he really needed was a good hard fuck, but that would just have to wait.

The soothing sound of shower soon filled the bathroom and Oliver was glad to finally be able to escape the day. He tugged at the buttons of his shirt, popping each one methodically out of the hole. The white undershirt he wore came off with ease and soon his pants and boxers followed suit. The genteel hiss of the shower rang in his ears as the warm water slid down his body. This was heaven on earth at the moment, or at least as close to it as Oliver was going to get. He closed his eyes as the days events played over and over again behind his eyelids.

Stacks of paper, numbers, letters, hidden faces- suddenly a pair of deep brown eyes flashed across his mind. Oliver knew those eyes- he would recognize them anywhere. There was a time- a brief moment- when he got lost in those eyes. Oliver was quite convinced that those eyes were the start of his downfall.

Maybe that is why he held a grudge. The night Marcus showed up on the Order's doorstep Oliver thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. There was _no way_ it could be Flint. But as Marcus walked in behind Tonks that night, hair dripping wet and plastered to his forehead his brown eyes still shown threw and Oliver knew in that instant that his life as he knew it was never going to be the same.

A quick knock at the door forced him out of his haze. He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, holding it up with one hand. He opened the door and was a little shocked to find Katie standing there. He motioned for her to come in before he shut the door behind her.

"Oliver Wood," she stated in a fake shocked tone. "Is that any way to answer the door? Naked, dripping wet and only wearing a towel? If I didn't know any better I would say you were trying to seduce me! Now put on some clothes and come down to dinner."

He chucked in response. "Katie Bell if I didn't know _you_ better I would say you were trying to accuse me of things that simply aren't true. Besides baby doll," he flashed her a smile- the one that made the girls in Hogwarts chase him around and wait for him at the pitch after games. "You know I don't swing that way."

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Marcus flopped down face first onto the bed with a thump. A muffled grown escaped his lips as he stretched his arms out and tucked them under a pillow. The heat in his face had pushed its way down his body and he could feel small beads of sweat prickle his skin. His mind was racing and he drew in a deep breath to steady his nerves.

This was ridiculous. No one got the better of Marcus Flint, especially not Oliver Wood. Stupid Oliver Wood- it was his fault after all- his fault that anything had ever happened, his fault that Marcus felt this way- all confused and awkward. If Oliver hadn't… if he had just…. damn if he would have just had the common sense to stop him. It had been a stupid decision, no… scratch that…. it had been a really really stupid decision. A simple dumb mistake that stuck with him as it constantly weighed on his mind and tainted his thoughts making him question who he was on the inside. Another grown was elicited from his lips as he rolled off of the bed. Marcus made his way to the huge picture window. Starting out into the dark night sky he felt just as lost as the day he first came here.

Confused and conflicted he turned and headed for the door. Just as he reached for the handle a knock rang out from the other side. Startled, Marcus jerked his hand back before staring at the door blankly. Another rap on the wood followed quickly by another before he made a grab at the handle again. Yanking the door open in annoyance he yelled at whoever it was on the other side.

"What!?" The breath he had just taken was quickly sucked out of him when his brown eyes met piercing blue ones. Suddenly he felt self-conscious for shouting.

Oliver rested his hand on the back of his neck as he spoke, unsure of what to do with his body at that moment. "Katie wanted me to tell you it's time for dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"You're telling you don't want food?" Oliver shot him a questioning look. "I bet you haven't eaten all day," he made a grab for the other boy's arm, hoping to pull him out of the room and downstairs with him.

"No," Marcus barked back moving away from Oliver's grasp. "I'm not."

"Alright suit yourself." Oliver turned to leave, but as Marcus shut the door behind him he quickly turned and stopped it from closing with his hand. "You know, you can't hide from _this_ forever."

Marcus felt his entire body tighten as he spoke. "Watch me."

They stared at each other from a brief moment before Oliver shook his head and walked away. This was not a fight he wanted to pick right now.

On the other side of the door Marcus paced franticly back and forth. He should get used to this- feeling messed up and out of place, after all… he _does_ have a job to do here. With that thought in mind he made a beeline towards the bed. He quickly looked around before dropping to his knees in front of the nightstand. Marcus stopped abruptly just as his fingertips brushed the cold metal of the bottom drawer pull. _No, not right now_.

"This is so stupid," he mumbled turning back around and heading for the hallway. "Stupid… stupid…stupid…stupid." The last word punctuated with a swift punch to the wooden door.

Instantly he retraced his hand, blood already pooling at his knuckles as pain shot up his arm. Now _this_ was a feeling he knew how to deal with.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: I spit kisses and hugs/Like forty-five slugs**

Oliver woke gasping and sputtering for air- his skin slicked with sweat. Another night another nightmare- unfortunately for Oliver they had become a fairy often occurrence for him. The drapes on the window flapped in the night breeze and he shivered as the cold air from the open window drifted in over his body. He threw his right arm over his eyes, trying to block out the moonlight- not wanting to give into another sleepless night.

It had been a long day, everyone talking over dinner of future plans and the devastation that was yet to come. Like most nights this one lasted into the early hours of the morning causing most of house's occupants to call it quits when they could no longer fight back the need for sleep.

Oliver groaned. Behind his eyelids fall colors danced and played in a sea of blacks and blues. Maroons and golds fought and tuned until they slowly took the shape of players on broomsticks. Hoops formed in the background and Oliver was flying through the air making save after save blocking shot after shot. The crowed cheered in a dull roar of static and-

The sound of a door slamming jerked him back out of his half sleep state.

"Bloody hell," Oliver kicked the blankets off of him and rolled out of bed. He dug around in his drawer before grabbing a white t-shirt and pulling it on over his head. The elastic of his boxers were old and so worn that the material barely clung to his hips as he made his way down the hall. A glass of water and then it was back to bed- there was still enough time that he could get a few good hours of rest before it was back to the office.

The house was dark, only a few candles lit the hallway. For once spending so much time here was paying off- even in the dark he easily made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Rounding the corner he headed for the cabinet. He grabbed a glass and filled it in the sink and then quickly gulped down the contents. Looking at the glass Oliver wondered out loud, "probably too early for coffee."

"Only if you want sleep."

Oliver jumped, nearing dropping the glass- severely startled by the fact that someone else was in the room with him. He whirled around to find a dark haired man sitting at the kitchen table with his head hung in his hands.

"Merlin Flint!" Oliver yelled.

The man didn't respond.

"What in the hell are you doing sitting down here in the middle of the fucking night?"

Marcus took a deep breath forcing the word out as he exhaled. Oliver leaned in trying to hear what Flint had said, but with his fingers covering his face all he could make out was a muffled "mmgram."

"What?" Oliver asked, raising his voice in frustration.

Marcus lifted his head. His eyes were still closed as he spoke, "migraine." As soon as the word cleared his lips he let his head fall back into his hands.

"Oh." Oliver suddenly felt bad for banging around the kitchen. "Sorry."

Marcus didn't answer. His head felt like it was splitting in two. He had been up most of the night thinking about his confrontation with Oliver. As small as it had been he couldn't shake the feeling he got from it. Sometime in the night his body had decided to retaliate against him for not sleeping by sending shockwaves of pain ricocheting around his head. This was nothing new for him; Marcus had always been prone to migraines- his mom used to get them all of the time when she was… Marcus swallowed hard- forcing the rest of that though out of his mind. On the other side of the kitchen the sounds of Oliver moving about the kitchen were like torture.

"Can….you…stop…" it was an obvious struggle for Marcus to get the words out.

"Sorry- again." Oliver put his glass away and quietly closed the cupboard.

Marcus turned his head towards Oliver. Slowly, he forced his eyes open and immediately regretted the decision. Oliver was leaning back on the counter, both hands resting on the edge. His hair was sticking up at all angles, his shirts was creased and clung to his skin while his boxers rested low enough on his hips that his well defined muscles peaked out from under his shirt. He had that cute "I just work up and don't care about how I look" thing mixed in with a "just fucked" look about him. Marcus quickly squeezed his eyes closed, forcing the image of Oliver out of his head.

"That bad?" Oliver's voice echoed in his ears.

"Huh?" All this talking was torture. Marcus pressed the palm of his left hand hard against his temple.

"I am just guessing that if you can't keep your eyes open…" Marcus could hear Oliver moving around the room. "… then it must hurt pretty badly."

_Ya, and you looking like sex on legs over there isn't helping any._ Marcus mentally flinched at his own thought. Trying to regain control over his head he started rubbing both temples with his fingers. This night just needed to end.

Marcus heard Oliver moving again, but wasn't prepared to feel the other man's warm hands on his shoulders. Startled by the touch he quickly turned and eyed Oliver.

"Calm down," Oliver gave the other man's shoulders a tight squeeze. "I'm just trying to help."

Marcus grunted his response before turning back around and rubbing on his temples again. Oliver thought about it for a minute before squeezing Flint's shoulders again. After all, the man never did say to stop.

Marcus knew this was only asking for trouble_. Damn that whole self restraint thing_. Another hard rub and he couldn't help but relax into Oliver's warm and skilled touch. It was quite obvious Oliver had many years of practice at this- quidditch can take a real toll on your body.

"A little tense are we?" Oliver asked as he rubbed the man's shoulders hard.

"Ya well, when you think that your is head is going to crack open we will see how tense you are."

Oliver laughed, "Your head is not going to crack open."

"You tell it that then, because it won't listen to me," Marcus pushed his hands harder into his temples mentally willing the pain to stop. Oliver's hands moved up his neck until his own fingers were pushed away and replaced with the other man's.

"Have you taken anything for it?"

"Mmmmmm," was the only response he was capable of at the moment. Instinctively he leaned back in the chair, his shoulders resting on Oliver's stomach. Yet as soon as their bodies made contact all sense of reality came screeching back to Marcus. Despite the pain he was in, Marcus jerked away from Oliver's touch. He jumped out of the chair and moved across the room.

"I'm not gay Wood," he spoke with a biting tone.

"I only asked if you had taken anything for it," Oliver flashed him a smile. "Besides…. I never said you where."

"I know what you are trying to do- and I don't play that way."

"Really," Oliver was no longer amused with Flint's antics. "Could have fooled me."

A sharp shock of pain pierced his mind like a red hot poker. Marcus grasped his head in his hands. "I'm not doing this- not right now." He turned and headed for the stairs. He was stupid for thinking he would ever get any rest around here. Marcus' foot barely touched the first step when he heard Oliver's voice drift from the kitchen.

"You kissed me Flint," Marcus winced at the thought. "You came after me… just remember that."

Oliver had never wanted Marcus before that day at the quidditch pitch. He had just been a house rival- someone he enjoyed beating match after match.

It had been just an average rainy day at Hogwarts when Oliver had made his trek to the locker rooms. Flint had been on his way back to the castle when they crossed paths. Words were said, insults exchanged and like normal they ended up swinging fists. However on this day the rain and mud got the better of them as they tumbled to the slick ground. Marcus had landed on top, fists flying. Somewhere between grappling for position Flint's cold muddy hand came to rest on Oliver's bare stomach. They had both frozen, completely absorbed in looking at the point where their skin touched. The cold rain no longer mattered as it ran off their hair and faces.

After what felt like an hour Marcus finally moved- slowly inching his fingers up and down on Oliver's exposed skin, marveling at the feel and the deep brown trails that stained Oliver' skin from muddy fingers. Oliver had ventured the next move, releasing the death grip he held on Flint's wrist. Gently, he moved his hand up and down the other man's arm. He had also moved his other hand next to the one Marcus had resting on his stomach- moving his fingers until they were intertwined with Flint's. Marcus just sat there, taking in every inch of where their skin touched before he cocked his head to look Oliver straight in the eye. To say Oliver was shocked when Flint moved his face next to Oliver- noses touching- was an understatement, but when Marcus leaned in and touched their lips together Oliver was instantly lost. The kiss was brief and just as suddenly as it had happened- it was over. Oliver opened his eyes to see fear streaked across Flint's face- his brown eyes wide and scarred. Marcus had made a hasty retreat back to the castle after that, leaving Oliver alone and laying in the rain. They never spoke of it again.

From the staircase anger started to bubble within Flint and he could feel his face flush red at Oliver's words. At that moment nothing else mattered, not the pain he was in, not the fact that other people were tying to sleep- nothing except setting Oliver straight.

"Fine- you want to do this now, then we will do this now." He walked back into the kitchen, arms raised in the air in frustration. "I did it, ya- so what?" He walked right up to Oliver, his face just inches from the other man's. "Doesn't mean anything. We were young and got caught up. It was just another one of our stupid fights that means _nothing_ at the end of the day. It just went- I just went overboard. It meant nothing, it means nothing, the kiss meant nothing." Feeling his head start to throb again he turned to leave, but not before he got one last quip in. "The soon you understand that Wood the better off you will be."

Oliver wasn't going to let him off that easy. He made a quick grab for Marcus' arm and spun him around. "That's it, you kiss me and that's it?"

"It was years ago Wood- so ya, that's it."

"No," Oliver shook his head as he spoke. He wasn't going to let Flint off this easy. There was more there- he had known that since the first day Marcus had arrived at the mansion. They awkwardness, the stolen glances… Oliver wasn't going to let this go, not like this. "I don't think so." Oliver quickly used his size to his advantage and pinned Marcus against the wall. He leaned in considering his actions for a brief moment as he saw the shocked expression written across Marcus' face. In one swift rough movement he crashed their lips together. Marcus tasted just as he had remembered- sweet and salty all rolled into one.

Oliver held him against the wall, both hands pressed against his shoulders. Surprisingly Marcus didn't struggle- instead returning the kiss even more fevered than Oliver initiated it. Oliver dropped on hand down to the waist of Flint's pants, grabbing at the hem of his shirt before sliding his hand underneath in search of warm bare skin. Marcus moved his body, angling his side towards Oliver to allow him easier access. Through heated kisses Oliver smiled against Marcus' lips this was more like it… _now what was that about needing a good hard fuck?_

Shuffling in the hallway grabbed their attention and Marcus quickly moved away from Oliver, panic written all over him. Oliver gowned, focusing his attention on whoever it was that just interrupted them. A few seconds latter a sleepy Katie Bell rounded the corner.

"Hey," obviously startled to see both of them at this time of night. "W-what are you two doing down here?" She glanced between them, shifting her weight nervously from side to side.

"Oh not much," Oliver answered in his usual cool tone. "I just came down for a quick glass of water. I was actually on my way back up, but I got distracted."

"Oh really," Katie was biting at her nails as she spoke. "By what?"

Oliver glanced over his shoulder back at Marcus who had resumed rubbing his temples.

"Marcus?" Katie asked- waiting for some sort of response.

"Had a headache- Wood here was just offering some advice on how to fix it. Unfortunately, he has no good ideas." Marcus shot Oliver a glare as he spoke.

"Oh," She glanced between them, stepping backwards towards the stairs. "Well I'm just going to go back to sleep then. I heard voices down here and wondered who was down here, but if it was just you two then nothing to fear I guess." She flashed them a smile before retreating back upstairs.

Oliver watched her as she disappeared back around the corner. He waited until the door clicked shut before heading back over to Flint.

"Now- where were we?" Oliver wrapped an arm around Marcus' waist only to have his advance quickly rejected.

"Just get the fuck away from me Wood," Flint's harsh tone had Oliver taken aback.

"What the fuck Flint?"

"Just leave me alone aright," Marcus pushed past Oliver and up the stairs.

This was not right; this is not what he was supposed to do, not how he was supposed to live. What had just happened had been close… too close and it made his stomach churn. He closed the door to his bedroom behind him, locking it with a quick flick of his wand. He tugged his shirt off over his head-headache be damned he was going to get some sleep. Marcus flopped down on the bed, his mind racing. One last thought flashed across his mind and instinctively he scrambled to the edge of the bed. Reaching down he tugged open the bottom drawer of the nightstand. He looked down, but the calm he was hoping to feel by staring at his destiny only made his stomach turn. "I hate you Oliver Wood… I hate you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Got a look that will kill/Voice that will carry**

Marcus laid there listening to the sounds of the rain fall and break onto the street. The soft plunk of each drop as it hit the streetlamps was deafening as it rattled around in his mind bouncing off of thoughts and memories. A hazy glow of yellow and orange dimly lit the edges of his room as the candles on the dresser and in the window flickered with the cool breeze.

Outside his room the floorboards in the hall creaked loudly- a sure sign someone was walking around. He knew it had to be Oliver on his way back to bed. Marcus thought about going out there- stopping him and trying to right the situation, but frankly that wasn't what he did. No, Flint was an instigator. He stared fights and only finished things if fits could be involved. Besides, he had too much to put in jeopardy… too much to come out if he let emotions get involved and Oliver Wood would just muck things up.

Oliver did something to Marcus that he couldn't quite explain. Just being around the man made him want to break down and spill his guts out to the world. Marcus was a dam and Oliver was that one small crack in the barrier. It was really nothing at first, not enough to even be noticed, but slowly over time it grew and started to wear him thin- letting things slip through. If he wasn't careful, if he didn't pay attention Oliver could break him and all of his secrets, all that he knows and fears would be lost forever out in the open where anyone could find them and that just couldn't happen.

Another creek sounded from the hall and Marcus willed himself to stay still. He shut his eyes letting the sounds from outside the mansion wash over him. A tap at the door caught his attention. As he turned a small crack of light from the hallway shown in his eyes through the now slightly open door.

"Marcus?" a slight whisper caught his attention.

"Katie?" Marcus couldn't see anyone through the blinding light.

"Ya," she pushed the door the rest of the way open and slowly stepped in.

"What-" Marcus was confused, half expecting to find Oliver on the other side. "What's going on?"

Katie pushed the door shut, trying her hardest to close it without a loud bang. "I just wanted to see how you were." She closed the distance between then, crossing the room slowly until she was leaning against the foot of the bed.

"See how I was?" Marcus asked in confusion.

"Your head-" She paused, tucking a long strand of blond hair behind her ear. "You said you had a headache."

"Oh!" He pushed the palm of his hand to his temple out of instinct. "Ya, it's- it's alright."

In all honesty he had been so absorbed in thinking about Oliver the he didn't even notice his head anymore.

Katie moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Does it," she inched in a little closer as she spoke. "Does it hurt terribly?"

"It's alright," he moved over on the bed to allow her room. "I think I'll live," Marcus forced a smile as he spoke.

She leaned in towards him, tentatively reaching her hand out before quickly pulling it back as if he would run if she got to close. Katie looked at him for a long moment, biting on her bottom lip as she was thinking. "Good," was the only word she was able to force out. She twirled the ends of her hair in her hands as she looked around the room. Her eyes roamed over the bare bedroom walls, then to the dressers on the other side of the room and finally out the open window. "Well I…" she flashed him a quick nervous smile. "I just wanted to make sure." She moved off of the bed and headed towards the door. He watched her, the light bouncing off of her hair in flecks of gold and red as she moved. She grabbed the door handle, but quickly spun back around. In one quick movement she walked back towards him, leaned in and gently pressed her lips to his.

Marcus didn't move- a state of shock taking control of his body. He just sat there on the bed like a dazed idiot letting her kiss him.

Katie pulled back, her lips still hovering over his. He could smell her, the soft scent of lilac drifting past his face. "Good night Marcus Flint," she whispered the words as her lips left his. Katie turned and left the room, slowly closing the door behind her.

"Good night Katie Bell," the words a shallow murmur. He lifted his hand to his mouth, gently touching his lips where hers had been just a minute ago. "You really are a silly little girl."

-------------------------------------

He… hated….Flint. No, scratch that… he wanted to kill Flint. Avada kedavra him right there on the spot just to be rid of him once and for all.

There was a time when everything about Flint reeked of arrogance and attitude. Oliver had been fine with that- fine with knowing that Flint was an ass. It was common knowledge around the castle. Hell, he even treated his own friends like shit sometimes so why should Oliver had expected to be treated any differently.

It was this… this different side of Flint that Oliver hated. The side that actually showed the other man had emotions other than anger and pride, the side that gave Oliver false hopes that he hated.

_This is so stupid._

Oliver made the quick decision to go stew elsewhere before anyone else randomly appeared downstairs tonight. He stalked down the hallway wanting nothing more then to get back to his room and fall back asleep. As he rounded the corner he saw Katie walking out of a bedroom. He almost shouted out to her when instinct grabbed hold of him shutting him up on the spot.

He watched as she slowly closed the door behind her, the dim glow from the room fading out. Oliver craned his neck trying to get a better view while concealing his body behind a wall. After shutting the door Katie pushed both of her palms against the wood and placed her head between them. She pushed her ear against the door as if listening for any sounds on the other side.

Oliver squinted in confusion. It only took him a minute of surveying his surroundings before he realized it was Flint's room that she was listening so intently to. Anger started to rise in the back of his throat and he swallow hard forcing it back down. This was Katie after all, why should he be mad at her? I am sure she has a valid reason for being in Flint's room and listening at his door.

"Hey Katie," the words escaped his lips before he could stop himself and he flinched at the sound of his own voice.

Katie jumped and clasped her hands over her mouth trying to hide the scream that wanted to escape.

"Oliver," she scolded in as harsh of a tone as she could manage in a whisper. "What in Merlin's name are you doing? You scared me half to death!"

"What am _I_ doing? I think the question should be what are you doing?"

"Me… I… um… I…" Katie stammered as she tried to come up with a rational reason as to why she would be outside of Marcus' room in the middle of the night.

"You just…." Oliver prompted her hoping to get an answer.

"I was just….. checking on him," she smiled jabbing her thumb in the direction of the door signaling she meant Flint. "He said he had a headache so I just wanted to make sure he was all right."

Oliver lifted one eyebrow as he stared at her.

"Oh don't give me that look Ollie," she playfully shoved him. "I know that look and I never like when I get it."

"Well don't do things that make me give it to you- simple as that."

"What- I'm not allowed to check on people now?

"No you are," Oliver paused and looked back over at Flint's door. "Just not him," he scowled as he spoke.

Katie frowned. "Look, I don't know what the deal is between you two, but you need to knock it off. There are enough feuds out there; we don't need them in here too." She walked up to him, stood on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek. "Night Ollie- try to get some rest."

Katie walked away; she had only made it a few steps before a thought crept back into Oliver's mind.

"What were you doing listening at his door Katie?"

She paused mid step. Turning her head to the side she looked at the floor as she spoke. "Go to bed Oliver," he voice was stern and calm. "It's been a long night for everyone."

Suddenly Marcus' door swung open, leaving Oliver and Katie both looking wide-eyed as Flint stared back at them. No one spoke- all exchanging silent glances. Oliver watched as Katie and Marcus' eyes met. It was enough to make his stomach turn. He knew why she was there- why she was listening at the door. His initial instinct had been right- she liked him. Anyone with half a brain could see that. Oliver looked back at Marcus. He watched the other man's expression looking for any sign that Marcus knew what Oliver only had the heart to admit in this moment.

He couldn't stand it anymore- the unspoken tension in the air. "Right well- night all." Oliver brushed past Katie on his way down the hall. He was stupid for thinking something could happen between him and Flint. This night only further confirmed that.

Safe inside his room he sat on the window bench, head against the cold glass pane starring out into the night. The rain continued to fall outside, slowly plunking down on the ground drop by drop each playing a melody into the night sky. It was the saddest song Oliver had ever heard and he was sure if he listened close enough he could be lost forever in it. Thunder sounded over the horizon and the rain picked up the pace to match it. A bright flash of lightning lit up the sky causing the street below to glow with an eerie orange tint. The house was nestled at the end of a court where street laps dotted the walkway. To anyone else the mansion would appear as a vacant deserted lot- only those allowed in on the secret could see where the house actually stood.

Oliver watched as another bolt surged through the night, only this time he noticed something else, something that didn't look like it should be there. Oliver leaned in towards the window, wiping the fog off of the pane with his hand. He looked, straining his vision as the shape in front of the manor came into focus through the blinding rain. Another flash and Oliver could distinctly make out the back of a hooded figured standing out in the rain. He blinked trying to clear his vision, his head was pounding and his heart raced with each passing second. _It had to be an Order member, someone coming or going- that's all…. nothing important._ It was as if all of the air was sucked out of his lungs as the figured turned to face the house. Oliver looked as white light lit up the sky once more illuminating a tarnished white mask staring back at him from the ground below.

He tried to yell, tried to scream, but nothing came out. He stumbled back falling on the floor in his scramble to get away from the window. No one could see him in there- he knew that, but this was too close. A Death Eater this close to their hideout was a bad sign. Oliver slowly crawled back to the window. He took a deep breath before he looked again. His eyes roamed the street, but where the figure once stood his eyes were now only greeted with empty space. He shook his head and looked again, but was confronted with the same result. With a heavy sigh he turned around and sat on the floor with his back against the bench seat. _He was just seeing things right?_

This was not at all the night he thought it would be. With a heavy sigh Oliver picked himself up off of the floor. There would be no more time for sleep tonight. Not after this. He dressed quickly and tossed one last look out the window before he headed for the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: ****It's Only Getting' Realer/ Baby Haven't you Heard**

The rain poured off his hood in sheets. He stared out into the night, trying to hide the cold that racked his body, flinching every time a raindrop hit his eyes. He hated the rain- hated the way it felt against his skin, hated the way it made you cold even on a hot summer's night, hated the way it slid down your face like tears you never shed, but most of all he hated the fact that it _made him feel. _In these times, in this place, it was just easier to shut down and stay numb to the world.

Other than shivering he didn't think he could move even if he tired. It took all of his willpower just to stay upright at that moment. The wind whipped around his body causing his robes to billow in an eerie dance as if they were attached to an invisible puppet master high above. His feet sunk into the cold wet earth until he was burred ankle deep in sludge and slime.

His eyes drifted shut, a lingering side effect from another string of restless nights. Days became like nights and nights became a seething underworld of distrust and lies. Death tainted the edges of everything he touched. Even in the brightest hour of his darkest day there was no light- nothing to guide his path.

He looked around. They were all standing there- just standing there awaiting their turn to be spoken with, scoffed at or broken down. He eyed Voldemort and strained his ears trying to pick up on any bits of information that he could. That was why he was here after all- the reason he was in this hell hole of an existence. He cursed the day he agreed to do this. Initially he thought he might be able to repay some kind of debt he was obligated to fulfill or some other sort of bullshit along those lines that he just didn't buy into anymore.

The muscles in his back, shoulders and neck tightened and burned sending shockwaves of pain though his body every time he tried to shift his weight. Conciseness seemed like a lofty goal at the moment. The corners of his vision were starting to blur and haze like the stormy night sky. A dense fog was rolling in over the hill and a small part of him wished he could just melt away with it.

A low mummer of words and voices drifted past him. It was damn near impossible to make out what was being said, but one word jumped out at him. One word stood out in stark contrast to the rest of the whispers, one word that make his stomach drop, one word that caused him to break out in a cold sweat… _spy_.

Oliver rushed down the stairs, jumping from the third from the last step onto the landing with a resounding thud. Blood rushed through his veins as his heart pounded in time with his head, the image of that damn mask flashing over and over again in front of his eyes. He couldn't make it stop, not matter what he thought about no matter how hard he tried the thought of that face in that moment came rushing back to him. A cold shiver racked down his spine and he quickly turned around giving into the sinking feeling that it was fingers running down his back.

Once he reached the front door he paused, one hand on the cold brass handle and the other holding his wand in anticipation. _What in the good name of Godric was he doing? Ya sure, open the door and find a Deatheater staring right back at you. Real smart, show them your hiding place and put everyone in danger._

A flash of white mask and dark robes blazed in front of his eyes. Oliver quickly backed away from the door, hand shaking he drop his wand- unable to hold onto it any longer.

"Oliver," a voice boomed from behind him. He whirled around heart pounding with adrenaline. A flash of purple hair and a steady smile soon calmed his nerves.

"Merlin Tonks," he breathed a sigh of relief as he spoke. "You fucking scared me."

"Sorry," she made her way down the remaining stairs as she spoke. "What are you doing down here? I could hear you all the way at the end of the hall- it sounded like the Hogwarts Express was coming down the stairs!"

Oliver ventured a glance behind her. The hall seemed dark and quiet- hopefully no one else was in earshot of them. "Did you see anyone else up?"

"No, why?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

Tonks shot him a questioning look. "Ya, but why would I need to-"

Oliver grabbed her elbow and slowly pulled her away from the stairs and over by the window. He looked around one more time before he spoke. "I think I… saw something." He swallowed hard and then gestured towards the window, "Out there."

Tonks' eyes locked with his for a long moment before she tore her gaze away and followed Oliver's out the window. "Just exactly…. what…. did you see out there Ollie?"

Oliver bit at his bottom lip almost afraid to let the word slip over his lips. He leaned in almost touching his lips to her ear as he whispered, "a Death Eater."

Upstairs a loud crash caught their attention. Tonks and Oliver stood completely still. Oliver looked over to the ground where his wand lay and then back over at Tonks. She nodded at him, a silent signal to move ahead.

"Accio wand," Oliver barley whispered the words before his wand came flying through the air and back into his hand. They crept silently towards the stairs. Oliver in the lead, Tonks resting her left hand on his back for balance as her right hand held her wand poised and ready. As they reached the top step he paused and glanced back. Her gaze met his silently willing him to go on.

It's not that Oliver wasn't brave; this was just all still fairly new to him. Diving off of your broom to stop a quaffle was more stupid than brave, but to Oliver it wasn't something he really thought about. When it came to quidditch he would risk life and limb if it meant his team could gain from it. That was instinct- instinct on the verge of insanity, but this was different. This wasn't something he could throw all of his weight behind and have enough faith to know he would come out o.k. No, this was something he had to finesse and that wasn't something he was used to. On the pitch he knew every inch, every move, every gust of wind that was coming, every though to cross a players mind, but here… he was out of his element

His body was willing him to go, pushing him to jump into action. The fingers on his left hand twitched with anticipation as beads of sweat prickled his skin. His brain screamed out at him_Go you idiot… GO_ and he had to shut his eyes to force everything out.

"Ollie," a harsh whisper came from behind him. "Do you see anything?"

_Only this damn white mask that won't erase itself from my memory_. "No."

The hall was just as he had last left it. A few half melted candles dimly lit the way, providing patches of orange haze only to be swallowed up by the dark in between where the sconces hung on the wall. He scanned the hall looking for anyone… anything. Tonks crept out from behind him brandishing her wand.

"Lumos," the tip of her wand illuminated the entire front path of the hallway.

"What in the hell…" Oliver squinted at a glass votive that once held a brightly lit candle that now lay shattered and broken on the floor. Wax melted into the carpet as the glow from the wick struggled to stay alive. He bent down to get a closer look, flicking the shards or glass aside with the tip of his wand. "Well?" his voice clearly exasperated.

"I don't know," she sighed as she spoke. "This is messed up." She looked up and down the hall again. "Are you sure you saw a…. you know?

"A Death Eater?"

"Shhhhh," she quickly scolded. "You don't want to scare everyone do you?

"Look-," Oliver placed his hands on his knees for balance as he pushed himself into a standing position. "I saw… something… or someone out there… and all I know is it didn't belong there."

Tonks shook her head not wanting to believe the reality of situation. "We have to tell the others."

He almost chocked on the words as they fell out of his mouth. "I know," saying them meant admitting that they were not as safe as they had hoped and that notion made his stomach turn.

Tonks looked back down at the shards of glass on the floor and then at the door across from them. She cocked her head to the side and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Who's door is that?"

Oliver had to do a double take- he had completely missed the fact that they were directly across from a bedroom door. His brow furrowed, "Flint's."

Katie leaned against the inside of her bedroom wall, listening as voices from the hall drifted in. She tried to steady hear breath, but no mattered how hard she tried they still came out in frantic shaky pants. _It couldn't have been… there was no way that…this close to their house….._ Her mind raced. Everything began swirling and fighting for space at the front of her mind. Too many thoughts, too many questions to process at once… a dull throbbing started to set in on the side of her head.

She was tired of whispers and secrets. She was part of this too, just as much as they were. Why try to hide it? Why not just come out and tell her? They knew she was here. Didn't they trust her anymore? Tears started to prick the corners of her eyes and she quickly dashed them away with the palm of her hand. She wasn't a helpless little girl anymore. She wasn't that lost little child who got cursed in Hogsmeade and laid unconscious in the hospital for months. She didn't need to be protected any more.

Katie raised her hand to her eyes and wiped away the last remaining tears left there. No more tears… not tonight, there wasn't time to waste on crying anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

A.N.- Italics are a flashback scene

**Chapter 6: Bandwagons Full/ Please Catch Another**

Tonks and Oliver exchanged worried glances. Ever since Flint had arrived at the manner it was almost as if a huge question mark was hanging over his head. Now, standing in the dimly light hallway surrounded by broken glass the uncertainties they held about him rang out loud and clear.

_They had been gone a long time- far too long of a time if you asked him. Something about it just didn't feel right, it all felt a bit…off. They didn't ask him to go with them; he could have easily gone if they would have asked. Oliver groaned- he knew someone always had to stay behind and be a base, but that didn't mean he had to like doing it. _

_He stared out the window pleading with the storm outside to let his friends come back safe._

_"They're alright," Mrs. Weasley's warm hands came to rest on his arm. "Why don't you come and have something to eat?" Her kind face smiled up at him, but Oliver could tell there was worry and fear hidden behind her eyes. He forehead was creased and the lines around her mouth more pronounced then he ever remembered them being. Oliver guessed she had been up most of the night fretting about her husband being out with the Order on another mission._

_"Ya, alright," he wasn't really hungry- probably couldn't eat even if he tried, but he needed something to take his mind off of the night._

_"Well come on then," she shuffled him over towards the kitchen table. "Get yourself something to drink and I will warm up leftovers from dinner." _

_Oliver forced a smile. There was no reason for him to drag the rest of the world down with him. Begrudgingly, he went over the cupboard, grabbed a glass and filled it with water._

_There was this overwhelming sense of foreboding clawing away at Oliver's brain. He used to get it before games, almost as if he could sense when it wasn't going to go the way he planned. Difference is he was on the pitch then, he could contribute, he could change things… take action… make things go the way he wanted them to. But now he couldn't do anything other than sit there and let the feeling eat away at him, slowly churning his insides like a portkey ride gone horribly wrong._

_"Ugh," he grown out loud, not even realizing he made the noise until Mrs. Weasley looked over at him._

_"Are you sure you're alright dear?"_

_"Ya-" he lied through his teeth. "Just restless, that's all."_

_"I think we all are these days," the lines in her face tightened as she spoke._

_The window panes in the kitchen rattled with the stormy wind as the rain drops beat down like nails, each clattering against the glass._

_"You should be glad you're not out there," she laid a plate of hot food down on the table. "You don't want to be out in that storm."_

_He knew she was right, but that didn't help ease his anxiousness any. Oliver wasn't a follower, he was a leader- he didn't wait for things to happen he made them happen, so sitting here…picking at his food… doing nothing…. was just short of torture for him._

"_I hate this…"_

_Mrs. Weasley looked at him with concern, "but you ate it earlier."_

"_No- not that," Oliver put down the fork he was using to absently push the food around his plate with. "I didn't mean the food. I meant the…. just never mind. The food is great Mrs. Weasley- thanks."_

_She seemed to appreciate the sentiment and went back to cleaning up the leftover dishes in the sink- a mundane task of busywork to help ease the mind._

_Oliver ran his hands through his hair- if the night went any slower he swore time would start moving backwards._

_As if awaiting that exact cue the front door flew open with a burst of wind that swept through the forayer blowing out the candles out in one giant gust. Oliver jumped up from his chair; wand outstretched and aimed it at the kitchen entrance. Heavy footsteps echoed off the walls and down the hall sending shockwaves pulsating through his head. Those in the house exchanged nervous glances as their eyes quickly shifted from face to frightened face._

_Slowly, a soft yellow glow began illuminating from the hall as the candles were relit one by one. A sense of relief washed over Oliver and he lowered his wand back down to his side. A familiar female voice could be heard murmuring something in the hall and Oliver instantly made his way towards the sound. Hoping to find Tonks and give her a hard time for how long they had been gone, Oliver instantly stopped in his tracks as he spotted the group of rag tag wizards huddled in the hallway exchanging whispers and handshakes. The image- what it all meant- was not lost on Oliver. This group, these people had just risked their lives for him- for everyone in the wizarding world. Oliver suddenly found he had a hard time swallowing the huge lump in his throat._

"_Merlin Ollie," a flash of purple hair caught his attention. "You look like someone just killed your best friend."_

"_S-sorry," he stammered. "Just been a long night."_

_Tonks placed her hand on his shoulder as she spoke. "It's only going to get longer." A quick smile and she was on her way to the kitchen._

_Oliver turned and watched her leave. "What are you talking about?" Tonks turned around and started to walk backward as she pointed towards the group of Order members still standing by the door. This tuned out to be a dumb idea as- never having been known for her agility- she quickly stumbled over a potted plant on the ground._

_Oliver laughed and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Oi Tonks- I hope they never have you leading on missions!"_

_Her hair quickly flushed pink as she stuck her tongue out at him._

"_Very funny __Nymphadora," Oliver made sure to accentuate the use of her first name._

_Her hair quickly changed from a vibrant shade of bubblegum pink to a fiery red. She had covered the ground between the two of them in a few giant strides, ready to wring Oliver's neck when Moody quickly stepped between the two of them._

"_Is this anyway to great our new guest?" he asked- one eye fixed on Oliver while his electric blue magic eye focused squarely on Tonks._

"_New guest?" Oliver asked peering around Moody in an attempt to look at Tonks._

"_Over there," Moody jabbed his wand in the direction of the door._

_Oliver quickly turned- following Moody's wand from end to tip before resting his sights on the hallway. A few Order members still lingered in the hall and as they slowly removed their robes and made their way to the kitchen Oliver grew more and more confused. Tonks was here, Moody, Kingsley, Mr. Weasley… Oliver went over the count in his head until one lone figure caught his attention. Standing in the hall was a rather tall cloaked figured, rain dripping from the corners of its hood._

_Oliver narrowed his eyes trying to draw more details out of the shadows that seemed to engulf the person._

"_Well don't just stand there boy," Moody's voice boomed down the corridor. "You're an Order member now- best start acting like one." He rolled his one good eye in annoyance as he walked away._

_Oliver swallowed hard. He looked over at Tonks, who's hair had returned to purple by this point in time, and silently mouth the words "what's going on?" at her._

"_You always were a little daft Wood," the man in the hall spoke from under the cloak._

_That voice, Oliver knew that voice. He quickly shut his eyes as years full of fights and competitions drifted by, broken noses, bruised egos, scars, fists, words. It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Oliver half expected to open his eyes only to find himself on the ground, wind knocked out of him with that man standing over him laughing._

_His eyes shot open. He was still standing, still whole- for the moment. As if in slow motion Oliver watched as the man reached up and removed his hood. Oliver quickly put up his mental defenses running over any and all insults he could come up with, but instead of the spite and hate he was expected to be greeted with all he got silence. _

_Marcus Flint stared back at him though matted hair and deep brown eyes. Raindrops desperately clung to the ends of his hair and eyelashes and his clothes were soaked right down to his skin. The whites of his eyes had all but turned red and Oliver questioned if this was even the person he thought it was._

"_Get a good eyeful in Wood?"_

_Ya- it was Flint. Even if his voice seemed like it was going to fail him at any moment that sarcasm was unmistakable._

_They stood there, eyes locked for what seemed like ages before Mrs. Weasley quickly bustled her way over to Flint._

"_Poor boy," she quickly wrapper her arms around him. "You must be starving. Come sit down and get something to eat."_

_If Oliver didn't know any better he could have sworn he saw Flint lean into the older woman's embrace as she spoke._

"_I'm fine- just would like to get some rest is all."_

"_Well of course," she smiled sweetly back at him. "Oliver dear, would you show Marcus to a spare bedroom?"_

_Oliver's ears suddenly went hot at the ends and his knew his checks must be flushed. He grumbled his "O.K." before turning on his heals and quickly walking up the stairs._

_Marcus took an extra long time climbing up the flights of stairs- Oliver figured he was doing it just to annoy him. Once outside an empty room Oliver stopped and stood in front of the door blocking Marcus' way in._

"_What are ye doing 'ere Flint?" His accent so thick with rage it was almost impossible to understand him._

"_What do you care," the man looked and sounded as if he may fall over from exhaustion at any moment._

"_What do I care? You show up in the middle of the night escorted by the Order and I am not supposed to think anything out of the ordinary about it?"_

"_Ya, basically." Marcus made a move for the door handle, but Oliver didn't budge. "Look- are you going to let me in or not."_

"_I'm opting for not."_

"_Don't Wood," his voice was quickly becoming constrained. "Not tonight."_

_There was something in the way Marcus spoke, something in the way he said "not tonight" that was more of a plea then a command. It was that plea that made Oliver move, made him watch Marcus walk into the room and drop the soaking wet cloak onto the floor, made him unable to rip his eyes away from the other boy as he stood by the window staring out into the night. _

_Oliver knew he should leave, but Marcus was there, shivering and vulnerable and on his turf and he knew he wouldn't be able to let it go._

"_If you are looking to save yourself--" Oliver paused, hoping the words would sink in more if he let them stew first. "You would be better elsewhere."_

"_If you have something you want to say Wood then just say it."_

"_Whatever it is you are doing here, whatever the reasons they better be good because if you do anything to fuck this up I'll-"_

_Marcus was on him in a matter of seconds, pinning him against wall, both fists clenched and balled around Oliver's shirt. It was only up close did Oliver notice the faded black and purple bruise that circled Marcus' left eye and the small cuts and scrapes dotted across his face and arms. _

_Summoning all the strength he could Marcus pushed his hands harder into Oliver's collarbone, wincing slightly as his bruised and blood caked knuckles pushed again hard bone. He was yelling, cursing, screaming, knowing fully well everyone in the house could probably hear him. He wanted to stop. He wanted everything to stop, but that didn't matter- the words just kept rolling off his tongue. _

"_You don't know," Marcus' eyes burned with tears he was struggling to hold back. "You'll never know."_

Tonks grabbed Oliver by the arm and led him down the long hallway. Quietly she pulled on the door handle to an empty room and pushed him inside. She listed at the door for a brief moment- waiting to make sure no one else was around. "Do you think he was listening?"

"Do you doubt it?" Oliver walked over to the window as he spoke. "Flint only looks out for himself," he pulled back the curtains and starred out to the now vacant spot that started this whole mess. "That will never change."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**:** Live this day down/I can't feel a thing**

His room was silent and still. The shadows all but crept in and took hold of everything its dark fingertips could latch onto. The candles, curtains, windowpanes all sat unmoving- motionless in their silent salute to the night.

Oliver sat in the middle of his bed, legs crossed, head hung, eyes closed- dead silent. His shoulders slumped and his arms hung lifeless at his sides. Sleep threatened to creep up on him, but he held strong. He couldn't sleep- not now, not with the thought of that white mask still burning a hole into his eyelids.

His room was engulfed in total darkness, only the moon dared to send flecks of light in. He wondered if this was what death was like- all consuming total and complete nothingness. He felt nothing and everything all at once- like his skin and joints were burning with every breath he took while his inside remained cool and calm. Vertigo is a sick and twisted friend.

He winced as a fleck of pain shot from his fingertip. Glass, leftover from the broken sconce from the hallway, stuck out from his skin and Oliver quickly pulled it out watching as a small pool of blood rose to the surface in its place. He pushed his finger inside his mouth, sucking on it slowly as the metallic copper taste settled in. How many times has he been forced to know that taste? Quidditch injuries, fights in the hall, busted lips and broken noses. Oliver hated the taste- it reminded him of Marcus.

"Fuck," the word almost lost in an exodus of breath.

He removed his finger from his mouth and wiped away the saliva on his comforter. Flint was a mess… a wholly living terror and Oliver's own personal _fucking_ nightmare. The man was a complete enigma. A carefully weaved web of traps and lies that contained just enough truth to get him by unscathed. Oliver hated him, or at least parts of him.

He hated that Flint made him second guess himself, his actions. Hated the way he made his insides twist up and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Oliver hated that things had changed- he knew bloodying Flint's face, fighting him and breaking him down wouldn't fix that. Most of all he hated Flint's eyes- the way they watched everyone in the room except Oliver, how they never looked at him when they spoke, or how they would cloud over anytime Oliver got close to him.

It was tragic really, the way Oliver clung to one little kiss. But he had never felt so much from so little before. It was as if years of tension, hate, desire and want were all rolled up into that one questioning kiss. He had spent many years trying to find someone else who could kiss like that, make him feel like he was the only thing in the entire world in that moment. Oliver had finally come to the conclusion that it would never happen again.

A small wrap at his door echoed throughout the room and Oliver slowly tuned his head towards the sound.

"Ya," his voice sounded weak and strained as he spoke.

"I've told the others Ollie," Tonks' voice sounded from the other side of the door.

He didn't answer, he didn't know if he could even if he tried.

Light from the hall flooded the room as Tonks pushed the door open. Before he could think he felt her warm body leaning up against his as she moved next to him on the bed. Her fingers played with the strands of hair hanging in his eyes as she spoke.

"What's wrong," the gentle melody of her words hummed in his ears and in that brief moment he wished he could just disappear.

The sounds of shuffling feet emitted from the hall and Oliver snapped his head up to catch a brief glimpse of members making their way to the stairs.

He froze, every muscle in his body tensed as full consciousness flooded back to him.

"Just thinking," he responded as he pushed himself off the bed. "We should go- they are probably waiting for us down there."

---------------------------

"That's just impossible… impossible," the last word was more whispered to herself than to anyone else.

"Is it Molly?" Arthur Weasley broke in, leaning across the table as he spoke. "You-know-who would use any means necessary to locate people fighting against him."

"But then he would know," Mrs. Weasley shook her head in disbelief. "Surely he can't know about the Order."

"I wouldn't put anything past him I'm afraid."

Oliver and Tonks exchanged worried glances.

"Are you sure Oliver," Remus piped up. "Are you absolutely sure that's what you saw."

A flash of white mask clouded his vision. "Ya," Oliver spoke in a tone so calm and commanding you couldn't help but take notice. "I'm sure."

The group mumbled their agreement and soon the room was swallowed up by the thick noise and chatter of conversations. People were shuffling, voices were raised, and out of nowhere Oliver swore he heard something that sounded like-

No, it couldn't be. Oliver looked around. No one new came in- it was all the same people as when he entered the kitchen. He walked down the hallway and over to the front door. _Still locked_. He knew he heard it. A thought crossed Oliver's mind.

"Where's Flint?" he asked gruffly, glancing around the room once more.

"He's sleeping," a small voice spoke up from behind him. Katie sat at the back corner of the table wringing her hands and alternating between staring blankly at the table and at the clock hanging on the wall. "He had a headache, remember Ollie?"

Oliver cringed at the memory.

"I- I checked on him earlier. He looked pretty bad so I thought I would just let him sleep. I didn't even bother to wake him when Tonks told me to wake the others."

_Coward_. The word surged through his mind. He had stood there listening to his and Tonks' every word and was now probably hiding up in his room faking some ruddy headache. _Bloody wanker_.

"Everyone… we just need to calm down," Remus' words pierced through the chatter. "There is nothing more we can do tonight. I suggest we all get some much needed rest and meet again tomorrow. We are all safe here for the time being- they can't see the house."

"But how do you know that Remus?" Molly's voice piped up from the crowd.

"If they could don't you think they would be in here already?"

Oliver knew this was true, but he found little comfort in the thought.

In a matter of minutes everyone was up and exchanging their goodnights. The room was so full of noise that the sound of a swinging door and the small pop of disapperation went completely unnoticed… almost.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: ****What a chore/Your wounds are full of salt**

What did it mean when breathing… simply breathing became hard work- when an action so involuntary becomes something so labored, such a chore?

What happens when the mundane becomes so consuming you can't function on your own accord? Every word, every action, every _fucking_ movement becomes forced and awkward, like you are living your life through someone else's body- knowing the general gist of things, but not how to make them work properly.

That was his life…_this_ was his life.

His body ached, his head lulled from side to side as he forced himself to steadily inhale…exhale… inhale…exhale. Every sharp intake of breath torture as the air felt heavy and dense sitting like a pile of rocks in his lungs, weighing on his chest. Each breath taken was another promise of beautiful torture. He hated life.

It hurt, knowing that he would become nothing more than what he was right now- his life, his very existence in constant turmoil and limbo. A life once so full of promise, now he lived with one foot already in his grave. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

He lay silent and still on the hard wood floor clutching a worn and dingy envelope in his hand. The corners had all but turned brown, but the letter inside was still perfectly intact, just as he had found it all those years ago. The red wax seal was still clinging to life- a solemn promise to protect all of the secrets written within. He ran his finger gently over the hardened wax, the curves and bumps all too familiar against his skin. He knew the emblem by heart- didn't even need to see it for the image to spring to life in his mind. He pressed harder against it, the raised initials pressing into his thumb leaving indents of backwards letters. He stared at them. In how many ways had those letters marked him? Left their permanent place on his skin and subconscious? His eyes squinted, narrowing his world to just those two tiny letters. Slowly his skin began to bounce back, erasing all trace of them. _If only it was that easy._ He let the thought linger there for a moment until…

A quick influx of noise, a voice, a murmur, a whisper all carried on the wings of pain drifted by. He could hear them… all of them- their voices just beyond his reach. They were down the hall, outside his door… in his mind. He didn't know anymore. His own cracked voice strained to make a sound in response. _Help me_, the words rattled around in his mind, hoping for someone to hear him… dying for one of those voices to latch on and understand his pain. _I can't do this… I'm not strong enough anymore_. His body flinched in response to his own horrid thoughts. _Do you hear yourself? Look how weak you have become. Don't let this break you…. don't let them break you._ As quietly and quickly as he could he folded up the letter and neatly tucked it back into his pocket.

Another sharp intake of breath and he forced himself off of the floor, away from the puddle of tears he called a pillow. _You are more than this_ The mental pep talk rolling over and over again in his head. _They need you… you know they need you. _A small weary smile slowly crept to his lips. _You…are… a… spy. Now act like one_.

**----------------------------------**

Oliver woke feeling as if he hadn't slept in years. His arms and legs felt heavy and his head swam with distant memories he couldn't quite grasp onto anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut as he swung his legs off the bed, shivering at the cool bite of morning air that welcomed him. Raising his hands to his face he scrubbed at his eyes hoping to push away the rest of the sleep still lingering there.

This night was just another of many other restless ones, a far too common occurrence for him these days. His eyes burned, his throat felt scratchy and dry and a slight ringing echoed around in his ears. If he didn't know any better he would have said he was sick, but he knew it was not the case. Wouldn't have mattered if he was- still have a job to do- still have to keep on living. _You never know when the day may be your last._

He sniffed loudly before glancing at the clock on the wall. With every move of the clock another second slipped by- sounded off by the loud "tick" of the heavy metal hand. Slowly he forced himself off the bed. _Need…coffee_.

He padded lightly down the hallway. It was 5 a.m. and he was sure most of the house wasn't up yet. Technically he didn't have to be in until 8:00 a.m., but it was never Oliver's M.O. to just do what was expected. Always first one on the pitch and last one to leave- same went for his work now. Truth be told, Oliver liked the quiet time in the morning. He could move at his own pace and do what he liked without being bothered.

As he rounded the last corner before the kitchen the smell of coffee and the sounds of a hot kettle boiling drifted through the air. Always being the first one up, he was a little disappointed surprised to find someone else occupying the huge wood table. Oliver groaned as soon as recognized the person sitting there. It was too early for this…too early for feuds and fights and fits. So he settled for the only thing he knew how to fall back on- his words.

"Flint," the name tossed over his shoulder in a strangled grunt.

"Wood."

First names were far too much of a formality.

Oliver went about fixing himself a cup of coffee and some toast. He placed his glass and plate at the far end of the table, making sure to sit a fair distance away from the dark haired man as he ate. They sat there in silence for awhile, Oliver eating his breakfast and Marcus slowly drinking his coffee. Oliver waited, expecting Flint to say something… say anything about last night. When no response came he decided to make the first move.

"So nice of you to join us last night," Oliver never looked away from his breakfast as he spoke.

A muffled grunt was the only response.

"Oh that's right," he paused, taking a bite of out his toast. "You had a… a headache, was that it?"

Marcus didn't answer, instead opting to run his index finger along the lip of his mug as he stared into the dark black coffee it held.

"Get a good night's rest did we?" Oliver slammed his mug down hard, smiling as Flint's hand instinctively shot up to his temple. "Feeling better then?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about," the words a slight whisper under this breath.

"mmm what was that?" Oliver continued to munch on his toast as he spoke. "You're a right fowl git?"

Flint's fists tightened around his mug, knuckles going white at the pressure.

"Didn't think you needed to join us then?" He went on with his onslaught or questions and insults. "Guess you figured you got enough information from listening in on the conversation I had with Tonks?"

That got his attention. Flint's head shot up to lock eyes with Oliver. "What are you talking about Wood?"

"Don't play dumb Flint- I know you were listening. Couldn't stand to be left out? Needed to know about the Death Dater before everyone else?"

Marcus froze; it was as if all of the air had been sucked from the room and no matter how hard he fought he couldn't breath.

"I don't buy your act Flint," Oliver shoved another bite of toast in his mouth as he spoke. "I know you were listening to us."

"You're so full of yourself Wood," Marcus tired his best to look cross. "Think I am just following you around, listening to your stupid conversations with your girlfriend…."

"She is not my girlfriend," Oliver narrowed his eyes at the comment.

"I have better things to do with my time then to spy on you." With that Marcus grabbed his coffee and headed out of the kitchen.

"What I can't figure out is why," Oliver's words stopped him dead in his tracks. "Why were you listening? How did you even know I was down there talking to her?"

"Drop it Wood," Marcus was growing increasingly irritated.

"The truth hurts sometimes Flint."

Marcus spun around and headed right towards Oliver. His face mere inches from the other boy's he practically growled his response.

"Look- I don't care about your stupid conversation or what the hell you think of me. I'm not here for you Wood."

"Why are you here then Flint?" The use of his last name accentuated on purpose.

"It's none of your damn business."

It took every ounce of energy Oliver had to not clock Flint right then and there.

"So for the last time- I don't care about your stupid conversation about some Deatheater you saw out your damn window last night."

"You're right," Oliver slowly backed away from Marcus who was now visibly shaking with anger. "It's not my place."

Flint stood in disbelief. Had he somehow many made it though Wood's quaffle of a noggin and knocked some sense into him? Marcus shifted his weight uncomfortably from side to side. "Right… well then… glad you see if my way."

"I do." Oliver leaned back against the countertop, resting most of his weight awkwardly on his hands.

Unsure of where to look Marcus simply nodded, turned and walked away.

"Oh, Flint… one more thing."

Marcus curled his lip in annoyance. _It's always one more fucking thing with you isn't it_.

"If you didn't listen to us last night," Oliver paused; wanting to make sure the rest of what he was about to say would sink in. "Then how did you know it was _me _who saw the Death Eater…. _last night_…. out _my window_? You weren't at the meeting, no one stopped in to wake you up after the meeting, and I am always the first one up in the morning so I know you didn't talk to anyone today."

Marcus swallowed hard, a huge lump forming in his throat.

"Like I said- I don't know why you were listening to us last night," Oliver pushed himself away from the counter and walked over so he was right behind Flint. He leaned in and whisper the rest of his words in the other man's ear. "But I intend to find out."  
Oliver intentionally knocked Marcus' shoulder with his own as he pushed past him.

It was still early and Marcus had a long day ahead of him. Cursing out loud he headed up to his room. Making sure to cast a locking and silencing charm on the door he shifted his eyes over to the dingy clock hanging on the wall… 5:30 a.m. _Fuuuuuuck._ The word a long drawn out groan. Running his hands through his hair he started to pace quickly back and forth between the window and the bed, every now and then tossing a glance over towards his nightstand. _Fuck it._ With one quick movement he opened the bottom drawer and hastily shoved the contents into a bag. A flash of red and cream in the bottom of the drawer caught the corner of his eye and he froze. He eyed it for a moment before slamming the drawer closed again, the sound echoing off the walls long after he left the room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: They sleep with a gun/Keep an eye on you son**

Oliver sat there, uncomfortably numb in his own skin. He rolled his head from the right, to the left, and back to the right again. Each muscle tensing and relaxing over and over as his eyes rolled behind closed lids. Noticeable silence filled the small nook of a room he called an office. There was a desk, two chairs, a few file cabinets, a coat rack, some old photo frames and a small clock that filled the space, leaving very little room for anything… or anyone else. He often wondered how easily he could fit his enchanted chalkboard in there, scribbling away plays until the light of the morning forced him to stop. Closed his eyes and pictured that the walls were the dark honey wood of the Gryffindor locker room. The sound of the metal lockers banging closed rattled around behind his ears. He could smell it too- the steam of the showers mixing with the sharp bite of sweat and summer air. His fingers automatically twitched, aching to feel the stinging slap of hard letter against his hand as he made save after save. _Double eight loop, starfish and stick…_ the plays running in his mind, each move like second nature… perfected over years of blood, sweat and tears. He knew what his body was capable of, just how far he could push it. Hands outstretched, splayed against the air as the wind whipped thought his fingers, but not the quaffle… never the quaffle.

A sharp intake of musty air and the confines of the office slowly drifted back to him, the pitch melting away in his mind. Oliver squinted, trying to focus on the last strands of red and gold memories fading away.

Tossing his hands behind his head he opened his eyes. Another day working is another day closer to the pitch. With that thought in mind he leaned over and picked up a manila folder sitting on the desk, his eyes grazing over the embolden black letter and numbers on the front. _Identity is so fluid_.

A large red X was stamped overtop the ID with the word "deceased" in capital letters underneath it. How many days, months, or years even had this person given of their own life he wondered as he thumbed the worn corner of the folder. How many lives had they touched, secrets had they know? Was that what got them killed? Did they know too much, or were they just careless- waving around their job proudly like a flag on a ship for all to see? Whatever the reason Oliver knew he wouldn't be seeing them again. The file neatly tucked away and with it all memories and acknowledgement they ever existed in that position.

Voices arguing in the hall quickly grabbed his attention and Oliver instinctively laid his hand on top of the wand resting on his desk.

"No, Sir-" a women's voice, obviously distraught, drifted in from behind closed doors. "You can't go in there…..Sir! Please!

The big brass handle to Oliver's office shook before the door was forcefully pushed open.

"I need to talk to you," the hood figure raised his hand and pointed directly at Oliver as he spoke.

"I'm- I'm sorry Oliver, I tried to stop him," the small lady standing in the hallway piped up.

"It's fine Penny, he can stay."

"That means you can leave," the figured looked down at the woman as he spoke. The anger in his voice was quite evident.

With a quick curt smile towards Oliver she shut the door.

"Well then," Oliver stretched his hands behind his head. "What can I do for ya?"

"Well first you can start by-"

"I'm sorry," he shuffled around some notes on his desk, blatantly interrupting the other man. "Who did you say you were again?

"Oh don't be daft- you know exactly who I am."

"Well, that's where you are quite wrong, that whole anonymity thing and all." Oliver flashed a portrait worthy smile. "Does make things a little bit trickier. Now, who did you say you were? The black robes of death thing… you all start to look the same."

Oliver was sure if he could see the other man's face right now that he would be having daggers glared at him. Small price to pay for irritating the one undercover he couldn't stand. Putting on his best Percy Weasley, Oliver continued. "Now, if you just give me your ID number I can certainly pull your file and go over any grievances you may…"

The figured crossed the small room in only seconds, hiking up the sleeve up on his left arm as he went.

"How about this?" The black ink lines of the Dark Mark were quickly staring up at him. "Anyone else you know have one of these?"

Oliver swallowed hard, the sudden lump in his throat refusing to go away. The skull and snake danced around and intertwined with one another and he wondered if that's how the blood of evil looked…. black as night, swimming around in the shape of death. A small shiver was beginning to work its way up Oliver's back and it took all he had to not shake.

"Or we could play more games if you like," the figured quickly withdrew his arm. "How about… you're a fuck head? It goes like this… I walk in with a genuine problem and then you act like a fuck head! See- you are doing so well already."

Oliver chuckled slightly; secretly glad he didn't have to see the dead eye sockets of that skull watching him anymore.

"Oh, you think it's funny do ya? Alright then, let's see how funny you think it is when I end up dead."

Oliver stopped laughing.

"What- not so funny anymore? Don't want all of your precious secrets exposed?"

Oliver sighed and walked over to his file cabinet, riffled around a bit and then pulled out a folder with A1171975 plastered across the front. He dropped it down on the top of his desk with a sharp smacking sound before sitting back down.

"Alright, let's talk."

The man eyed him; reluctant to believe this wasn't another trick.

Oliver reached over to the pen lying on his desk. Idly he pushed it back and forth, slowly turning it over with his finger as he waited for the other man to speak.

The air felt thick and heavy, like he couldn't even talk if he tried. The figure ran his tongue slowly over his lips, coaxing the words to come out. "They know about me," the words finally spilling over.

Oliver stopped pushing the pen around and looked up at the man as his words washed over him. Unsure of where this was going Oliver treaded carefully. "_Who_ knows _what_ about you?"

"They… them…. You-Know-Who."

A quick surge of adrenaline pumped through Oliver's veins at the thought. Every nerve ending, every fiber of his very being felt like they were being lit on fire.

"You….," he paused attempting to regain composure and control of the situation. "You told them then?"

"Are you a bleeding idiot?" His hands waving wildly as he spoke. "Think I would just give myself up to them? Merlin, you really are daft. If I told them about me I wouldn't be here telling you about it that's for sure."

"And why is that," Oliver asked, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his desk.

"Wouldn't be alive right now if I had, would I? Probably would have killed me before I could even finish tellin' um."

Oliver knew he was right, knew he had no reason to believe his a spy would ever compromise their identity. Only a fool with a death wish would be so arrogantly stupid. Oliver cleared his throat, coxing the words resting on his tongue to come out. "Alright then- how do they know?"

"I don't… I don't fucking know," the man's voice worn and strained as he spoke. He sounded broken down as his shoulders slumped forward. Slowly he walked over to the chair occupying the small space between the door and the coat rack and sank down into it.

"So how are you not…um…" Oliver cleared his throat again, suddenly finding it difficult to talk.

"Dead?" the other man asked, breaking up the silence before it had a chance to settle in. "The don't so much know who I am as much as the know about me."

Oliver leaned back in his chair absorbing each and every word as it came his way.

"Explain."

"They know something is up. We were there, with _him_ , just standing there like some god damn army awaiting orders as he looked us over… surveyed us really." He tried to laugh at the thought, but it came out as more of a half laugh half sob as he struggled with his emotions. "Looked at us like we were his fucking prize or positions or some shit. Whatever the hell he was doing he was not happy because next thing I knew he gabbed the guy next to me… I think it was a guy… shit I don't know who it was, we never know who everyone is in there... another way he controls us. Fuck…" his voice was starting to trail off as he rubbed his hands against his face.

"Then?" Oliver didn't want to push him. He needed to know what this guy had to say and both of them knew it.

The figure froze, a quick flash of rage shot threw him and he jumped up from his seat and walked to the front of Oliver's desk. Placing both palms on the cold wood surface as he leaned in close and continued. "Then he grabbed the poor basted and Crucioed the son of a bitch for no fucking reason. When he was done he yelled at him to take his place back in line…. just like a good little solider." The last part was grumbled more to himself than Oliver. "He does that when he wants to break you. Make sure you know that you belong to him and he can do whatever to you whenever he wants. Breaks you down first to remind you just what will happen if you don't follow through on what he is about to ask of you."

"And you heard what he asked this guy to do I'm assuming."

"Only caught it because the guy was next to me, practically leaning on me just to stay upright."

Oliver's mouth was dry from breathing in the other man's scent. For a brief moment he wondered if he could smell death on him. He swallowed hard as he forced out the question.

"And just what was it that he said?"

The hooded figure leaned in towards Oliver, the whites of his eyes shining through the dark that hid his face, "find the spy."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: ****I'm gonna run spread the news/Help say the word**

If he were able to formulate words at the moment, Oliver knew everything that came out of his mouth would contain the word "fuck". _Are your fucking kidding me? This is, inFUCKINGcredible, reFUCKINGdiculous … fuck._

Really… it was a damned it you do, damned if you don't situation. Do you freak out, pitch a fit and let your undercover watch you slowly unravel or do you act calm, hide all emotions under layers of repressed fear and frustration and come off as nonchalant when you know damn well they will find the man standing in front of you and kill him in cold blood?

A quick wave of nausea swept over Oliver and he raised a shaky hand to his right temple, pressing gently hoping to avoid the headache he knew was sure to follow.

Finally able to find his voice again he spoke. "Find the spy?"

"Ya."

"That was it?

"What else needed to be said?"

Oliver eyed the man through thick dark lashes, numerous curses wetting his lips as he forced the words back. Thought after nauseating thought raced through his mind. It was like standing at the gate right before you flew out onto the pitch, every possible scenario whipping by like unintelligible chatter.

"They know there is a traitor among them. I have to work smart and fast, beat them at getting what I want before they get to me."

There was a long pause before…

"I'm afraid this is above me," the words almost slicing his skin as spoke them. Oliver hated admitting he couldn't do something, hated relaying on others to finish things for him. It made him feel incompetent and weak.

The figure quickly grabbed his file from Oliver's desk and waved it in front of the other man's face. "This is all I am to you isn't it? Just some damn folder! You don't care what happens as long as you get something out of me."

"Don't you get it man? I _can't_ do anything for you!" Oliver rose from his seat, his chair falling back behind him with a loud thud. "If someone knows about you…. shit…." his voice suddenly softened. "If someone knows about you then the Aurors need to know. They can help you, they can protect you."

"Oh hell no!" The man was now fuming. "No, no, no, no."

"You don't trust them?"

"No. Not with this."

"Yet you trust me with it?"

There was a long silence before a soft "yes" came from the other man. "With this... yes."

Oliver rubbed his hands over his face in frustration. "They need to know. If your cover gets blown..."

"Then I'm as good as dead, no matter who tries to help me."

"I have to tell them!"

"Let me get what I can before anything happens."

"Do you have a death wish or something?"

The man didn't move he just stared at Oliver as he spoke.

"Alright, let's think about this rationally." Oliver needed to gain some kind of control over the situation. If he can handle having bludgers aimed strait at his head, not falling to his death and making a save all in the one quick movement then he can think though this. His mind went to work piecing together all of the bit on information he had at hand.

"O.K.- so they know there is a spy."

"Ya."

"But they don't know who."

"Right."

A thought popped into Oliver mind. "Well they certainly don't suspect you then."

"And why is that?" the man asked slightly confused.

"You heard You-Know-Who mention it… do you think he would want you in earshot of that if he suspected you?"

"Could have been doing it to scare me into tellin' him."

"Doubtful."

"Why's that?"

"Well you said it yourself," Oliver bent over and picked his chair back up before sitting back behind his desk. "If he suspected you he would have just killed you, no questions asked. I mean you are just another body to him right? You are expendable."

The other man grumbled. "That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Well it should. Means he doesn't think it's you."

"And I am supposed to take your impromptu word for it that he doesn't know about me?"

"Hey- you were the one who just said you trusted me."

Oliver could hear the man practically growl under his breath.

"I still have to report it to the Aurors though, let them make the final judgment call." He reached for a pen to start making notes in the spy's file as he spoke.

It was only a matter of seconds before the other man had him slammed up against the wall of his office, hand positioned tightly around Oliver's throat.

"I don't think so," the words hissed out.

Black threatened to cloud Oliver's vision as his head bounced off the wall, a muffled yelp barely escaping his lips.

"You won't tell them anything," the spy said, leaning all of his weight against his arm pressed under firmly under Oliver's jaw.

Oliver didn't mean to do it; instinct just kicked in as he grabbed the man by his wrists, shifted his weight and pushed. Before he knew it he had the spy pinned face first into the wall with his arm wrenched behind his back. He made a mental note to thank Marcus for always picking fights with him back at Hogwarts- seems all those years of fighting finally paid off.

"What the hell is your deal?" Oliver roared as he twisted the man's arm hard.

"Fuck, that fucking hurts!"

"That was the point," he tugged a little more, hoping to drive the point home.

The man could feel his shoulder pulling and straining ready to pop at any moment.

"You work for them," Oliver was crushing down on the other man, just wanting the situation to be over.

"That's not the point," he managed to choke out.

"Then just what is the point?"

"You tell them and they will pull me."

Oliver froze, unsure of just exactly what this man was saying to him.

"What are you talking about and so help me Merlin if you lie to me I will rip your arm right off." He pulled a little harder on his arm to show he meant it.

"Damnit…. you trying to kill me?"

"That doesn't sound like an answer to me…"

"Alright alright, look… if they even suspect my cover is blown they will pull me from this job and that just can't happen."

Oliver leaned harder into the spy's back shifting most of he weight against him. It suddenly struck him just how remarkably warm this other body felt against his. Oliver had always just assumed he would feel cold, a deep blue ice running through his veins instead of a warm steady flow of blood. Thought a normal human couldn't function under the circumstance this guys was under. He could smell him too, leaning his head in just a little closer than he should have his nose barely ghosting over the black fabric hiding the other man's neck. He couldn't quite place it, but it was soft and heavy and Oliver felt himself relaxing his grip and closing his eyes.

"I'm close."

Oliver heard the words, imagined them ripped from the other man's throat as he stroked him hard, hips bucking up into his hand. It was only a quick second later and Oliver was cursing his hormones pushing himself as far away from the spy as fast as he could. He drew a hard shaky breath trying to steady his nerves as realization flooded back to him.

"Fucking shit man." The spy instantly doubled over and rubbed at his shoulder.

"Why can't you leave?" Oliver snapped not knowing if he was more angry at himself for his sudden neediness or at the man standing across from him for not realizing it.

The man looked up threw the shadows on his face.

"Job's not done, but I'm close."

"Close to what?"

The spy just shook his head and walked towards the door. "Trust yourself man… you know more than you think you do."

And with that he walked out the door leaving Oliver alone once again.

---------------------------------

"They guy is certifiably crazy," Oliver picked at the rest of his dinner as he spoke with Katie and Tonks.

"You don't really think that Ollie," Katie sat across from him listening him recount the details of his day.

"Sure I do. He is nutters."

Tonks snorted at Oliver's response.

"Not only that, but he is violent as hell. Damn near about took my head off." Oliver rubbed gingerly at the small fingertip shaped purple bruises peppered across his neck.

A storm was kicking up outside and the tree branches were beginning to slowly scratch and scrape on the glass panes of the kitchen. The night was raining down drops black as ink against the night sky. The low creaking of the mansion's front door was hidden behind the cracking of the thunder. It was only when the door slammed back shut did it grab their attention. Seconds later Marcus rounded the corner only to find three sets of eyes staring back at him. The uncomfortable tension that suddenly filled the room was enough to make him gage. Forcing his feet to move he made his way over to the stove. He hadn't eaten all day and he wasn't about to let a few sets of questioning eyes stop him now.

"Hey Marcus," Katie piped up smiling at the man as he crossed the room.

"Hey," his voice was soft as he smiled back at her, the action feeling a little too foreign to him.

Oliver just rolled his eyes as he walked over to the sink to fill up his glass. Now was not the time he wanted to watch Katie fawn over Flint. Slamming his glass down in the skin he turned on the water faucet and waited for the glass to fill. The action earned him a quick stare from Flint who immediately noticed the markings on his neck.

"You're staring." Oliver stated, knowing fully well it would embarrass the hell out of Flint.

"Just trying to figure out how you managed to give yourself hickeys cuz Merlin knows no one else would."

Oliver could hear Tonks and Katie trying to hold in their amusement behind him.

"Ya ya, laugh it up. Glad you find me being attacked by some psychotic…" he paused looking for the right word.

"Nutter?" Katie interjected.

Tonks couldn't help but laugh out loud this time.

"Yes!" Oliver continued, completely unfazed by the quip. "Attacked by some psychotic crazy person. And everyone here finds that soooooooooo funny."

"You're right, you're right. Sorry. So then why don't you tell us exactly what happened then?" Katie said.

"It's like I said. One minute we were talking and the next he had me pinned up against the wall as he tried to choke me to death."

"Well you must have pissed him off somehow Wood. In fact, that sounds like something you would be good at." Marcus grabbed his plate from the counter and headed over to the table grabbing a seat next to Katie. His hunger winning over the rational side of him that was yelling _go back to your room and shut yourself up there for the rest of the night before you do something stupid… before you muck something up._

"That's just the thing… I didn't. I mean-sure I was giving him shit when he first came in, but that was just because he pissed me off the last time. This happened at the end, after we already talked and got things straightened out. I just don't know." A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as the thought back on the day.

"So what happened after that? Did you have to call security?" Tonks was obviously concerned by now.

"Nah, I got out of it. Slammed him into the wall and wrenched on his arm for a bit until he calmed down." _Until I couldn't control myself anymore and had to back away before he noticed I was sporting wood right there_. "Which reminds me… I guess I owe you one Flint."

Marcus stopped mid bite. "For?"

"All those years of fighting with me. Finally paid off I guess."

Oliver smiled at Flint and Marcus could feel his stomach flip flop.

"So what set him off? Were you yelling at him or something?" asked Katie.

Oliver thought about it… he knew the answer. Much like that spy, Oliver was someone who didn't give up, someone who was so devoted to what they did that they couldn't stand not seeing it through to the end at any cost. He didn't expect anyone else sitting at the to understand that.

"Ollie?" Katie's voice cut through his thoughts.

"I don't know Katie…" the lie stinging his lips. "He just did."

------------------------

It was burning. It was the middle of the fucking night and the damned mark on his arm was blackening his skin right before his eyes, beckoning him to join his master. He sat cross legged on the floor, the cold from the wood stinging his legs as he held a tarnished mask in his lap.

He knew he would go, knew he had to. A choice otherwise was a choice to be buried ten feet under. A strangled laughed escaped his lips as he tried to choke back the tears threatening to stain his cheeks. Timidly he ran his finger over the cold surface of the face staring back at him.

_If they could see you now what would they say? Go and fight. Go do your job. Don't be weak. You have never been weak. Even they can't break you._

In one quick movement he snatched up the mask and cloak and headed outside. One look around told him the clear. With every ounce of courage he could muster he slammed his wand tip into the mark and closed his eyes, his body being pulled away into the death of night.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: ****Sex Junkie/Looking for a Dealer**

Marcus was kissing him. His soft wet lips pressing down onto Oliver's prodding at his mouth with his tongue. Oliver moaned and let him have access, his own tongue sliding across the slick surface of Flint's jagged teeth. He cried out as he felt Marcus' tongue drag down his chin and his lips attach to his neck slowly sucking and biting leaving angry red marks to mix with the purple fingertip shaped bruises already visible on his skin.

Oliver wrapped his arms around the other man's shoulders pulling him down closer waiting to feel the shear weight of his body on top of him. He wanted more, wanted it all, wanted to melt into Flint because he didn't think he could ever get enough of him, could never be close enough to him. He reached his hands down sliding them along the strong muscles of Marcus' back as he arched up, needing the heat and friction… but it wasn't there. He tried to grab the other man's ass, pull him down but it felt like nothing. Grinding upwards he whimpered in frustration as if no one was there at all…

Oliver woke alone in his room hips bucking upwards into the empty sky. Cursing out loud he arched his hips up, sweat running down his forehead and coating his body in a shinny glaze. He reached down between his legs and grabbed his cock giving the base a hard squeeze. Oliver gasped tossing his head to the side and cursing Flint under his breath. Slowly he ran his hand down his cock teasing the slit as a small bead of precum slicked his fingers. He was so hard, so needy that it only took a few stokes before he came shooting white ribbons across his chest

He was thankful the room was dark, thankful that even he couldn't see what he had just done. He reached for his wand and muttered a quick cleaning spell before pulling the sheet back up across his body flinching as the fabric stuck and clung to his damp skin.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," the word long and drawn out beneath his breath.

He promised himself he would let this stupid fixation on Flit go, but that was easier said than done especially when the man was starting to take up residence in his dreams. Oliver scrubbed at his face as he groaned out loud. He wanted a guy… a straight guy, or at the very least a guy who wouldn't admit was gay who also happened to like one of his best friends… who is a girl.

Shit.

This just wasn't going to get any easier.

Another groan and he kicked off his sheets and padded over to his dresser pulling on a pair of athletic shorts before heading towards the hallway. Whenever he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep a walk around the mansion always seemed to help, give him time to organize his thoughts well expending some restless energy.

He was halfway down the hallway when he heard the front door open. Curious he treaded lightly down the stairs and peered around the corner. Marcus was standing in the dimly light foyer, hair plastered to his head looking tired and worn down.

_What the fuck is he doing?_

Before Oliver had time to process that thought Marcus was making his way towards the stairs. He backpedaled quickly ducking into an empty room before Flint could see him.

Flint moved silently and as fast as he could up the stairs, down the hallway and into his room. He sat on his bed, back towards the door facing the big bay window and stared out into the night. He shook his head back and forth as if arguing with himself before cursing out loud and reaching up underneath the hoodie he was wearing and pulling out a dark bundle. Marcus clasped the objects in his hands watching as his fingers intertwined with the bits and pieces of his life he was holding so tight. He swallowed hard before bending over and opening the bottom drawer of his nightstand and shoving the things inside.

"What ye doing Flint?"

Marcus jumped at Oliver's voice. He shut the drawer and turned to face the other man.

"Think you can just walk into my room Wood?"

"Door was wide open."

_Fuck_. "Your point?"

"My point is," Oliver moved into the small dark bedroom as he spoke. His eyes roamed over the bare walls cracked from years of neglect. "I was wondering why you would be coming in at 3 a.m. and more importantly…." He shifted his gaze and settled it directly on Flint. "… why you left in the first place?"

"Felt a migraine coming on so I went for a walk to clear my head. Didn't know that was against the rules."

"What if someone saw you Flint? Merlin- you can't just go wondering around outside at night!"

"I'm not an idiot Wood. I was careful."

Oliver walked in closer stepping out of the shadows of the doorway. Marcus felt his mouth go dry at the sight. All toned tanned skin and lean long lines- he wondered if Oliver was holding in his stomach because he didn't think anyone's abs were that impossibly flat. He noticed how Wood's skin was almost glowing in the moonlight that was bathing the room in a soft blue hue.

"Flint?"

Marcus shook his head as Oliver's voice broke through the fog in his brain. A quick sharp pain shot threw his skull like a hot poker and he instinctively reached for his temple and clenched his jaw.

"What were you saying?" Marcus asked threw gritted teeth.

"Are- are you o.k.?" Oliver winced at how lame he sounded.

"Fine. I'm fine." He forced his eyes open ignoring the dull throb that was beginning to settle inside his head. "You know I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

"I never said you were-"

"You don't have to." Marcus sighed closing his eyes again and turning his back to Oliver. "It's not what you say Wood, it's how you say it…….. fuck!" Another shock jolted threw his head doubling him over in pain.

Two strong hands were quickly at his sides holding him in place as he swayed with pain. It was freezing in the damp room, but Marcus could feel the heat radiating off Oliver as they stood mere inches apart, Oliver 's chest to Marcus' back. Just as suddenly as it had happened Oliver realized what he was doing and went to retract his hands surprised when Marcus reached down and held them in place.

"Might fall over if you let go," Marcus' voice was low and soft, laughing a little as he spoke.

"I can stay as long as you like… I mean as long as you need." Oliver quickly corrected himself. He could feel a slight blush rising up on his cheeks and was thankful that Flint was facing away from him.

"I hate these damn things, they mess me up man." He pushed the palm of his hand against his forehead.

"Here, let me help." Oliver knew he was pressing his luck, but couldn't stop the shear closeness of the other man egging him on. "Lean against me."

Marcus didn't move, his body tensing under Oliver's fingers.

"Just trust me," he leaned in and whisper the words in Flint's ear. He slid his hands down to grip the other man's hips before pulling him back towards him.

Marcus stumbled back a little, surprised at how hard and sturdy s Oliver /s Wood felt behind him. The were roughly the same height, Oliver was broader in the shoulders and more bulky- a solid wall for anyone trying to put a quaffle past him where Flint was a bit leaner, better fit for flying and cutting threw the air yet their bodies fit together so well like this. Marcus was so caught up in the feeling of Oliver's body against his that he almost forgot about his head until he felt fingers gently rubbing against his temples.

"Helping?" Oliver's voice was soft and deep in his ear.

"Mmmhmm," he let his head fall back and rest on Wood's shoulder.

Marcus didn't want to think, didn't want to care about what was right or what was wrong he just wanted to feel…. feel something other than pain and cold. Something other than what he was supposed to do and act on what he wanted to do. Relaxing more he leaned in harder against Oliver, smiling when he felt his ass make contact with the other man's hardening cock. A low moan drifted past his ear and he knew that Oliver had enjoyed it. He pushed back again relishing the small hitch in the Gryffindor's breath as he did so.

"Marcus," Oliver practically hissed out the name. He didn't know where this was going or if the other man was playing with him- planning to turn on him at any moment, but he didn't care. When he felt Flint reach back, grab him by the hips and pull him in close he couldn't help but gasp out loud.

"What are you doing?" Oliver asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

"I don't know," it wasn't a lie. "But I don't want to stop."

"We can go slow if you like."

"Slow would be good."

Oliver smiled against his neck at the answer. He let his hands wander down from Flint's hair to the hem of his hoodie reaching beneath it and the thin tee-shirt under that seeking out the warm skin of his stomach. He splayed his fingers out tracing the lines of Marcus' muscles as he placed soft kisses on his neck.

"I've…god," he gasp as Oliver's tongue flicked the end of his ear. "I've only been with girls. I don't…."

"Shhhh… don't worry. I'll take care of you."

The words meant more to Marcus then Oliver could have ever possibly known. That's what he wanted. No responsibility, no one counting on him for anything, not feeling the weight of the entire fucking word on his shoulders. The only things he wanted to feel was Oliver's warm breath on his neck and the warm of his skin.

He reached behind him and wrapped a hand around the back of Oliver's neck, enjoying the small laugh it earned him.

"Can I do this?" Oliver asked as he ran his hands down from Marcus' stomach to the top of his jeans unbuttoning them with one hand and pulling on the zipper with the other. Flint groaned and pushed his hips forward against his hands. "I'll take that as a yes."

Oliver continued, looping both thumbs into the sides of Marcus' jeans and pushing them down just enough to give him better access. He played with the soft curls on Flint's lower abdomen, running his fingers lightly through them as his fingers crept lower seeking their mark.

"Door."

Oliver turned and realized the door the bedroom was still wide open. He grabbed Flint's wand out of his back pocked and mutter a spell, throwing the wand down onto the bed as soon as door closed.

Marcus whimpered as Oliver's hand slid down his hip. He didn't want games, didn't want to guess at motives anymore and this was simple… so simple and obvious that he could have kicked himself for not succumbing before. This didn't have to be something and yet it was everything. Everything that he needed and everything that he wanted in that moment and it was beautiful sweet torture.

Oliver's fingers grazed lightly over the head of Flint's cock and he bucked forward in response, not caring how needy or desperate he looked because he was both. The feel of those nimble fingers teasing his slit was enough to drive him mad.

"I won't break," was all he could manage and he hoped to God that Oliver understood what he was saying, what he needed.

It was all the instruction Oliver needed as he gripped Flint's cock hard wrapping his fingers around the base.

"Fuck ya."

A small smile spread across his lips as he began to stoke the other man watching in delight as he threw his head from side to side a sting of incoherent words playing over and over again on his lips.

"Fuck….so good Ollie…. need this…. been so long…. don't think I can…. fuck…"

He was close, so close to losing control just like he had wanted to do for so long. Only difference was here he could, he could surrender… let he guard down and be exposed if only for a brief moment, but that was all he needed.

"Fuck Ollie I'm gonna-"

His words cut off as he came, bucking his hips and spilling white cum all over Oliver's hands.

They stayed like that while Marcus caught his breath, both afraid to move, both afraid of the fallout of their actions. Normally Oliver would have taken control, shoved the other man against the wall and fucked him senseless until he was begging and pleading for release. But not tonight. Tonight Oliver pulled his hands away, slowly dragging his fingers across warm skin savoring every touch because he knew it might be his last.

"I... uh…," Oliver couldn't find the words, desperately grasping for reality.

"Ya…" was all Flint could muster as he pulled his pants back up and buttoned them.

Oliver ventured a step forward not exactly sure what he was hoping for but froze when he saw Flint match his step for one of his own only backwards away from Oliver.

"Alright then," Oliver hated to admit what he knew deep down to be true. He turned and walked out of the room shutting the door behind him.

"Ya," Flint whispered the words to himself. "Alright then."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: ****The days feel like years/When I'm alone**

Marcus flopped down on the bed burring his face in the crook of his arm as he tried to steady his breathing. These past few months had been such a whirlwind of emotion and turmoil that most of the time he wasn't sure if he was coming or going. Most nights he would wake up in a cold sweat damn sure that someone was watching him. So it was nice to have some time alone, time to himself to think about what he wanted and needed. No one ever thought about him and when they did it normally wasn't to his benefit. Always questioning him, berating him with "whys" and inundating him with curious glances and stares.

It was his life and if he didn't want to share, didn't want to let anyone in then that was his own damn choice. It was just easier to lock himself into his room and hide everything from the world only show them what they already expect him to be…. a jerk, overly confident, inflated ego, quidditch obsessed asshole. He had been that way for so long it was an easy skin to fall into. It was comfortable and familiar even if it wasn't necessarily him. It wasn't an all too wrong stereotype, but it wasn't right either. There was just so much people didn't know about him.

For instance Marcus had a fiercely loyal side only a few select people ever got to see. He would go to any extent to protect what he believed in…. to protect what he considered important. It was a trait he inherited from his mother. That and the excruciating migraines he was so prone too. When his mother was alive she would shut herself in her bedroom for hours just laying in the dark silence it offered. Marcus would sneak in and curl up next to her in the huge oversized king bed. He would always fall asleep as his mom ran her fingers through his hair.

When he first started to get them he didn't tell anyone about headaches. He saw what they did to his mom and he just wasn't going to let that be him. He was a boy, he was supposed to be strong and brave- little things like headaches were not meant to faze him.

So he would hide in one of the many rooms in Flint Manor until they went away, but as he got older it became increasingly more difficult to keep them secret. They eventually got so bad that he fell off his broom during a quidditch match- landing himself in the hospital wing for a week.

They were at their worst right after his mom died. His father had sunk into a deep depression over her death and had left Marcus to fend for himself. That summer at home was probably the worst time in his life. He would make up things to do just to avoid being at home. Every room, every corner of that house reminded him of his mother and he couldn't stand to be there without her.

One day his dad caught him popping a pill, snatched the bottle right out of his hand and crushed them on the spot once he realized they were migraine medicine.

"Just like your mother," was all he said before he walked away. Marcus never took them again after that.

Just thinking back about his dad filled him with animosity and hate. That was something he definitely learned from his father. After his mother passed away the man he once knew changed into someone unrecognizable. He was hardly ever home and when he was he was manic. Marcus always found it best to just stay out of his way often finding refuge at his friends' places. When that didn't work he would shut himself in his room until his dad fell asleep.

If only he had known then what he knew now.

A small sigh escaped his lips as he rolled over onto his back. And now here he was, still held up in his room, still afraid to let anyone in. He wasn't here because he wanted to be- not really. No, he knew it was where he had to be… what he had to do. Just like everyone else in this place. God, the look on Wood's face when he showed up at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

"_Get a good eyeful in Wood?"_

Marcus didn't think he had ever seen Oliver speechless in his entire life so it was definitely a moment to be remembered. Besides, what else could he have said? Everyone knew about their feud at Hogwarts and he could have only guessed what Oliver had told these people about him not thinking that someday Flint would be there standing in the doorway dripping wet wanting to join in their fight.

"_What are ye doing 'ere Flint?"_

That was not a conversation he wanted to or was willing to have at that moment. Wood didn't need to know- shit, no one needed to know his reason and the few that did weren't going to tell.

"_You show up in the middle of the night escorted by the Order and I am not supposed to think anything out of the ordinary about it?"_

Marcus groaned. He didn't know how that night was going to go when he just showed up with no explanation, but a confrontation with Wood was not on the top of his priority list. Tonks had offered to make up a story for him- willing to cover until he was ready to talk about it. Marcus opted not to take that route saying he could handle himself.

"_Don't Wood. Not tonight."_

He was tired, run down, sought after and stalked. Picking a fight with Oliver Wood had somehow become less important, even childish after what he had gone threw. Marcus rubbed his knuckles at the memory half expecting to find blood still caked to them.

"_If you are looking to save yourself--"_

If Oliver had know the truth behind that statement- only… it wouldn't have been in the way Wood would have expected.

"_You don't know Wood. You'll never know."_

God he had snapped- shoved Oliver against the door with every intent to beat the living shit out of him. It had scared him how quickly his emotions turned. Scared him just how much he was like his father in that moment. He had let Wood go, yelled at him to get the fuck out of his room and had locked the door right after him. It took him twenty minutes to get his hands to stop shaking and another half an hour after that rinse all of the blood off his hands and face.

Marcus' stomach turned at the memory. He had thought about that night a thousand times over and the only conclusion he could reach was there was nothing else he could have done… no other possible outcome. No, he was right. It was the only way to insure that everything went to plan. Unfortunately Oliver Wood did not fit into the plan the way he had expected. It was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. He knew he needed Oliver, needed him for what he knew and what he could do for him- even if he didn't know he was doing it. But then there was this _thing_ between them that he hadn't expected at all. Marcus had hoped he had gotten Wood out of his system back at school when he pined him down and kissed him, but apparently he hadn't and tonight was proof of that. Every time he saw the man he almost lost his damn head. He had to stop it, had to let his rational side take over before he ruined everything he had been working towards. If he wasn't careful Oliver Wood would find out too much and get Marcus killed.

---------------

Oliver leaned his back against the cool wood door to his bedroom. His skin was still damp and he idly ran his fingers over his stomach as he contemplated what to do next. Was what he had just done a huge mistake? He thought of Katie, the way her face lit up when anyone even mentioned Flint's name. He had just betrayed his best friend, even if she was just being a silly little girl with a silly little crush. She didn't understand what Flint was capable of. Shit, he wasn't even sure he knew what Flint was capable of. Sneaking around late at night, knowing information that no one told him, conveniently disappearing and showing up again at random times.

Merlin what had he just done?

Knowing he wasn't going to be able to sleep anymore tonight he went to his closet to pick out his clothes for the day. He rummaged through his things pulling out a pair of dress pants and a clean shirt. His black ministry robe hung lopsided in the corner of the room. Oliver grabbed it so it could be hung over his dress shirt. A small jingling caught his attention and he realized he must have left a few coins in his pocket probably left over from buying his lunch the day before. He reached in and pulled out the coins surprised when a small piece of parchment fell to the ground.

"What the fuck?"

Oliver hung his robes before bending over and picking up the piece of paper carefully unfolding it in his hand. Unable to read it in the dark corner of the room he walked over to his bed and grabbed his wand. Lighting the tip he pointed it at the note.

_Six a.m. Your office. It's important._

Oliver scowled. He looked up at the clock on the wall, 4:30 a.m. Guess he could start getting ready, he wasn't getting anymore sleep tonight anyway.

There was only one person who would have left him this note, the only questions that remained where how and why. He crumpled the parchment back up and placed it back into his robe pocket. It was time to get some answers.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: I'm hearing what you say/I just can't make a sound**

Oliver held the small piece of parchment in his hand. The black ink scribble stared back up at him in the dim light of his office. He looked over the clock… 6:20 a.m. … then back at the parchment. _Six a.m. Your office. It's important.. _Oliver drained what was left in his in coffee mug and turned to look out his enchanted window. Right now it showed a fierce rainstorm, lighting flickering though the sky illuminating the ground below for a brief moment before the skyline plunged back into darkness.

"Can't you make that show anything else?"

Oliver didn't even bother to turn around before he spoke.

"You're late."

"Well the Dark Lord doesn't exactly keep a strict time table."

Oliver shook his head before turning around and taking a seat at his desk.

"So you obviously got my note." The man stood in the doorway to Oliver's office leaning against the frame as he spoke. Black robes covered his face a body. It was an intimidating site for certain, but Oliver wasn't buying it.

"About that… how did you get it into my pocket? And when?"

"Mmm… not important." The man grabbed the empty chair next to the door and dragged it over to Oliver's desk, positioned it directly across from him and sat down.

"You stalking me is not important?"

"Don't get your hopes up- it's not stalking," his voice was a little more upbeat than Oliver had expected. "Just using my abilities to my advantage."

Oliver shot him a questioning look before tapping his wand against his cup, watching as it slowly began to fill back up.

"So… what's so important that you have to slip notes into my pocket at undisclosed locations and undisclosed times."

"Not really undisclosed. Think about it, if I wanted to meet you today then I would have had to slip that note into your pocket…."

"Yesterday?"

"Exactly, or I would have risked you showing up too early. See- not everything is so secretive now is it?"

Oliver frowned. He didn't want to play games with this guy, not today.

"So what's so important then?"

"Ah, jumping right into it are we?"

Oliver didn't answer, instead crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

They sat in silence for a moment before the other man spoke. "You have a mole," he leaned in closer, both elbows resting on the desk with his head resting in his hands. "An informant in your precious little Order." The man looked up waiting to see the former Keeper's expression, almost hoping for the stricken look of fear to cross his face.

Oliver felt as if all of the air was being forced out of his lungs at once. A cold sweat started to break out across his forehead and his vision started to blur. He felt dizzy and panicked as he leaned forward and roughly grasped the edge of his desk. Slowly he forced his mouth to form words.

"W-what are you talking about?" he asked, willing himself to sound strong.

The man started to laugh which quickly launched into a coughing fit. He sounded warn down and yet manic at the same time. "Someone is leaking information to the Death Eaters," he said, whipping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Someone who knows _things_… important things… things only someone on the inside would know. That someone is in your Order."

Oliver swallowed hard. "What Order?"

The man leaned in so close Oliver could feel his ragged breath graze his skin.

"This is no time to play dumb. I know who you are, I know what you are part of," his voice became deeper and more constrained as he spoke- obviously trying to hold back his anger.

"I'm not part of anything," Oliver spoke through clenched teeth.

"I don't recommend playing dumb with me Mr. Wood."

"Look- this is my office and as long as you work for-"

The man rose from his seat and in one quick motion reached across Oliver's desk, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him halfway across the desk. He held him there as he spoke, his arm pressed across Oliver's neck, watching as he sputtered for breath.

"I'm out there every day. I live this. Me. Not you," the man had Oliver held so close there faces almost touched. "I have seen his face, felt his breath on my skin, stared into his red eyes. I know what he does. I see the people he kills. I've watched him do it. Have you ever watched someone die Oliver? Seen the light leave their eyes as their last pleading expression is fixed on you as if you are some beacon of fucking hope?" There was a long pause before the man spoke again. "You don't know what it's like to live in hell day in and day out."

He released his grip on Oliver, covering his face with his hands in exasperation. His voice muffled as he spoke through closed fingers.

"When I sleep I see their faces- the eyes of the people I have seen die staring back at me. It's like I'm drowning day after day, asphyxiated by all of these lies- all of these fucking _things_ I have to hide. It feels like I can't breathe anymore." The man started to cough again, bending over at the waist in shear exhaustion. He shuffled his way back over to the chair and sat down.

"This will kill me…. I know it will."

Oliver was standing on the other side of the desk with clenched fists. He was slowly running quidditch plays over and over again in his mind- a sure fire way to calm his nerves before he did something drastic that could land him in Azkaban. This was the second time this spy had attacked him and if he wasn't talking about the Order Oliver probably would have climbed over his desk and held him down until the Aurors could come to take him away.

"Listen to me," the man spoke again. "I won't let you bury what I just told you under your precious files or hide behind the fear you _obviously_ have of me knowing something about you. You can't just push this aside. What I told you- what I know could literally get the life sucked out of you. So now I ask you… what are you going to do about it?"

Oliver raked his fingers through his hair. "That's all you know. The Death Eaters know… things?"

"Yes."

"Well that's real fucking helpful." Oliver was exasperated to the max.

"Remember when I told you I thought they knew about me?"

Oliver was pacing his office by this point in time, well if you could consider walking the few steps it took him to get from one side of his office to the other pacing.

"Ya, but what does that have to do with this?"

"Everything! He wasn't looking for a spy in the Death Eaters… he was looking for _his _spy. They weren't at the meeting and he wanted to know why, wanted to know what they were up to because they were due to report back to him. He sent that guy who was next to me to find them, to bring them back and explain their absence."

Oliver froze, a hard realization coming to him. The Death Eater he saw outside his window, the broken glass in the hallway, the sounds of the door opening and closing when no one appeared to be around, the faint pop of disapperation … Merlin could it really be true?

"You don't believe me do you?"

Oliver didn't answer. He just sat there with his lips pushed tightly together. This was dark territory he was entering so he wanted to be sure he knew what he was doing.

"Why should I?" His voice was calm and even.

"It's your job!" The man stood, knocking over his chair as he rose.

"You have assaulted me twice now, followed me, accused me of being part of some secret society, asked me to not report my finding to the Aurors all while asking for my help?"

"You are supposed to help!" The man clenched his jaw hard as he tried to steady his words. "You are supposed to be…" he could hear his own voice waiving. "Supposed to be the one person I could count on." He quickly turned his back to the other man before scrubbing at his face with his hands. _You are not about to break down, control yourself. He is not your lifeline. Better to learn that now._ He was not going to lose it, not here, not in front of him. _You knew he didn't really care about you._

Oliver starred at the man's back for a long hard minute. He was already skating on thin ice- why not just plunge all of the way under?

"How do you know about the Order?"

Oliver held his breath as he waited for a response.

"I'm a spy Oliver, it's what I do."

"Spying for the wrong side now? Allying yourself with Death Eaters?"

"No!" The man practically shouted as he turned back around. He looked at the man across from him, the intensity in his eyes enough to make him wonder if Oliver was trying to read his thoughts. "I didn't tell them!"

"Them?" Oliver's heart sank. "_He_ knows?"

"Yes- no… fuck, not exactly."

"What?" Oliver was visibly frustrated now.

"Some of us know there is a group, an Order of such, who is making plans to fight against the Dark Lord. That's all I know… all I've been told. You're lucky I am privy to that much information."

Oliver sat in silence for a moment. "That's still doesn't tell me how they know."

"They got an in with someone. I don't know who and I don't know how."

"You don't know who?"

"No- it's not like we all know each other." The spy took a deep breath before he continued. "The Dark Lord wised up. If one of us gets caught we can't bargain for our lives anymore- can't give up names you don't have. The less we know the more disposable we are. Only those closest to him get privileged information."

"Then how do you even know about the spy?" Oliver was desperately trying to piece this guy together.

"Like I said… only those close to him get to know privileged information."

"Your…" Oliver swallowed hard at the thought… "close to him?"

"Getting there. Why do you think I couldn't let you go to the Aurors. If they pulled me then he would know something was up. My life would have been over."

Oliver knew that was true. As much as he would like to pretend the Order could protect them forever he knew nothing was perfect.

"How much do they know?"

"Not a lot. Just know of it really- that's all I've gotten so far. Think your spy is playing it safe. If they tell everything they know then what use are they? The Dark Lord could just kill them. But if they let things slip little by little- while that buys them time doesn't it?"

A permanent scowl had set in on Oliver's face.

"So- do you know who it is?" The spy was anxious to hear any information the Ministry worker might divulge to him.

"No, but I have a good idea."

"Who?"

Oliver reached into his robes and grabbed his wand before walking over towards the door.

"I think it's time you left now."

"I tell you this and you are kicking me out? I don't think you realize what I have just done. If this information falls into the wrong hands-"

"Then I'm not doing my job. You just keep doing what you are doing and let me know if you find anything else out alright?"

The man nodded. "And what are you going to do about the Order?"

Oliver's voice was hard and stern as he spoke. "What Order?" He closed and locked the door behind them as he ushered the spy down the hallway.

Parting ways Oliver made his way to the Department of Records. He had an old quiddich buddy who had taken a job there after the Ministry canceled league play and right now he really needed a favor. Quickly glancing down the long hallway he opened the door to Grady's office.

"Wood, is that you? What are you doing here man?" The former Chaser from the Chudley Cannons stood and raised his arms in the air in welcoming surprise.

"Shhh… ya it's me. Just keep your voice down would ya?"

"Sure, but what's going on. I didn't know you worked here."

"Hazard of quidditch being canceled. Look- do you remember the game we played against each other last year?"

"Course I do. I took a bludger to the shoulder. Knocked me clear off my broom. Only reason I didn't end up flattened at the bottom of the pitch is because you reached out and grabbed me."

"Ya, that's the game… I was kind of hoping you might be able to return that favor." Oliver felt wrong for asking. He hadn't expected anything in return, but Grady had been so instant after it happened that he tucked the favor away in the back of his mind. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to use it.

"Sure thing, anything you need bro."

"I need someone's personal file- no questions asked."

Grady gave him a questioning look. "Alright, sure. But could you be a little more specific, I mean… every witch or wizard born has file- helps us keep track of our own kind. You got a name of who you need?"

Oliver leaned in and spoke as softly as he could.

"Flint. Marcus Flint."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14:** **Truth in your lies/Doubt in your faith**

Oliver sat at his desk, the light from the candle casting a yellow glow across the room. Stacks of paper sat next to him on the floor- work he still had to file away, but just couldn't find the time to do. The only file that mattered for the moment was the lone manila folder lying on his desk.

It's not like he could just go to the Aurors with this information. He would risk exposing the entire Order. Everything he and the generation before him had worked for could crumble. Lives could be at stake here. No, this was best kept to himself for the moment until he could piece everything together. Gingerly he thumbed at the tag where the words _Flint, Marcus A_. were handwritten in black ink. The corners of the folder were worn and tattered indicating frequent handling which puzzled Oliver. By comparison Oliver's personal folder was crisp and clean. He knew this because he had requested to see it when quidditch was disbarred. He wanted to make sure all of his achievements were actuality noted for when the season was allowed to start back up again. Who knew how long that would take and good documentation of your capabilities was, Oliver was quite certain, a reliable way to make sure nothing would be skipped over.

But here was Flint's folder, warn and tattered. Ink spots smudged at the bent over corners almost as if someone had been carrying it around with them. Oliver ran his finger gently over the edge almost as if hoping to coax all of the secrets inside out without ever having to flip it open. With a deep breath and his eyes squeezed shut his flipped the file open. He sat like that for a minute almost afraid to look at what might be laying in front of him. Taking another deep breath to steady his nerves he opened his eyes.

Looking up at him from the tattered folders was layers of photos, parchment and official looking documents. This looked nothing like the clean and well organized folder Oliver had seen about himself. No, this was a jumbled mess of facts, notes, papers with dog-eared edges and notes written in the margins. He really didn't know where to start. One photo caught his attention and Oliver immediately recognized it from the grey and white uniform- Marcus' team photo from the Falmouth Falcons. Oliver pulled the photo out from the pile and was surprised to find it was clipped to other pieces of paper. He took the small stack and placed it in front of him, pushing the rest of the file out of the way.

He unclipped the photo and held it up. It was obviously a promotional shot; Oliver had taken one almost exactly like it for Puddlemear. There was Flint standing in his robes, quaffle in one hand broom in the other smirking directly at the camera with the goals standing proud in the background. The figure in the photo tossed the ball up and down in one hand periodically shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Oliver had to smile. Things seemed so much simpler on the pitch. Shaking his head he put the photo down and reached for the paper that was clipped to it. Definitely a player's profile he noted. There were information fields and notes all filled out by someone with horrible hand writing. Oliver squinted at the file trying to decipher the writing.

_Name: Marcus A. Flint_

_Height: 183 cm_

_Throws: Left_

_Previous Team: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry house team- Slytherin_

_Position: Chaser_

_Known medical conditions: __Prone to server migraines_

_Notes: Player seems overly confident- doesn't easily fess up to his mistakes. Likes to be in control. Has had a hard time adjusting from caption to just another player. The kid has talent he just needs to learn how to calm down and play with his head in the game more._

Oliver turned the page over, but it was empty. Same went for the page behind it.

"That's strange."

He couldn't understand it. Oliver made sure his files were up to date with everything he could think of documented. He couldn't figure out why Flint's was so lacking. Apparently Falmouth didn't do things they way Puddlemear United did. He should have figured after all of the shit he heard about that team. What could you really expect out of a team whose motto was: _Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads."_? Oliver shook his head before reaching for the file and pulling it back in front of him.

There were tons of photos of Flint. Some of him sitting alone at the pitch, others of him entering a bar, one of him talking to someone who had their back turned to the camera.

"What is the point of all of these?" Oliver wondered out loud.

He rummaged through a few other photos until one caught his attention. Oliver grabbed it and pulled it out from the stack dropping it almost immediately. Staring back up at him from the photo was a pair of dark eyes hidden behind a dingy mask. Oliver slammed his eyes shut. He had expected something like this. Hell part of him was even prepaid to find it. It was the half of him that wanted Marcus to be something else that was shocked. He opened his eyes again and stared at the photo. He slowly picked it up before flicking it over with his fingers. Oliver was shocked to find writing on the back. Unlike the writing in Flint's quidditch notes this writing was bold and clear- the words easily readable on the back of the photo.

_Anthony G. Flint- known Death Eater- in custody_

Anthony Flint? Oliver's mind raced. This guy was obviously related to Marcus in some way, but who the hell was he? A quick thought popped into his head and he reached back over to the quidditch file.

_Name: Marcus A. Flint_

A… bet that stood for Anthony. Seemed likely the man in this photo was Flint's father. Oliver couldn't recall every hearing anything about someone in Marcus' family being thrown into Azkaban, but then again he hadn't really paid that close attention to what happened to Flint off the pitch until recently.

Oliver shuffled around a few more papers digging for anything that might be of use. There were blank pages with only ink smudges on them, papers with hand written notes so illegible he wondered who ever found them helpful and pages with more photos stuck to them.

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. This was going to take him all night and there was no way he could bring this back to headquarters- too risky. That's when he noticed once piece of parchment with the corner sticking out above the others. Oliver immediately recognized the Ministry's crest watermarked into the paper. He grabbed it and pulled it out from under the small stack. The words _**Ministry Surveillance File**_ were stamped out in bold black type across the type of the page.

Now this was definitely a page Oliver had not seen in his own file. He pulled the candle sitting on the desk closer to him as he leaned over the parchment, quickly engrossing himself in the writing.

_Suspect Name: Marcus A. Flint_

_Birthday: November 7, 1975_

_Marital Status: Single_

_Father: Anthony G. Flint- convicted Death Eater currently serving time in Azkaban Prison_

_Mother: Mariah A. Flint- deceased_

_Siblings: N/A_

_Status: __Currently under surveillance__. FILE UPDATED: Suspect removed from high threat alert, surveillance detail canceled._

_Reason(s): __Suspicious activity, in communication with suspected Death Eaters. FILE UPDATED: __Surveillance yielded no tangible leads._

_Notes: Suspect Flint was seen having numerous meetings with suspected Death Eaters- friends of his father. We have reason to believe suspect Flint is working towards joining the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

Oliver's stomach instantly turned.

_Anthony G. Flint- convicted Death Eater currently serving time in Azkaban Prison._

He read the words over and over again. Marcus knew his dad was a Death Eater and he didn't say anything?

_Currently under surveillance. Suspicious activity, in communication with suspected Death Eaters_

Oliver had his suspicions sure, but he never expected them to be backed up by any facts. Now with cold hard evidence looking him straight in the eye his panic level rose. The temperature in the room felt as if it had just jumped up, sweet pricking his forehead as he pulled at his tie. The words on the page started swimming before his eyes as he thought back to everything that had happened between the two of them. The fights, the lies, Flint's body against his own- lips pressed desperately against his own.

_Suspect Flint was seen having numerous meetings with suspected Death Eaters._

"Oh god," the words barely chocked out as his breath came in short gasps.

_We have reason to believe suspect Flint is working towards joining the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

Oliver's hands shook as he pulled them over his face, panicked breath after panicked breath taking hold of him.

-----------------------------------

Katie sat in her room, pieces of parchment scattered around her on the bed. She had never been quiet per say, she just held a lot of things in. She was more of a private person- choosing to keep the things most important to herself. Ever since she was cursed by that locket in Hogsmeade she had turned to writing as an outlet. Being laid up in a hospital bed for months had proven to be fairly boring so she took up the hobby to keep her hands and mind occupied. It was simple little stories at first mostly about quidditch and flying, but recently her thoughts had turned. Everything she wrote was tainted with fear and death, something that scarred even her. She couldn't help it. Being stuck in this place day in and day out seeing what the world was slowly becoming. How could you not lose hope?

There was a faint knock at her bedroom door and Katie quickly shuffled up the papers into a neat stack at the foot of the bed.

"Ya, come in."

The door creaked open and Marcus poked his head around the corner.

"Hey."

Katie's face instantly lit up. "Hey you. Come on in."

Marcus took a quick glance down the hallway before walking in and shutting the door behind him.

"You… working on something?" He asked eyeing the stack of papers.

"Oh, no." She smiled sweetly up at him. "Just trying to keep busy."

"Too busy for me?" He walked over and leaned against the dresser that sat by the foot of her bed.

He had never been one for flirting. Not to say he wasn't good at it. In fact quiet the opposite. A quick wit would do that for a bloke, well… that and being a professional quidditch player didn't hurt either. But flirting- it all just seemed like a useless game. If two people liked each other then they should just get together and get on with it. Why waste time dancing around the issue when you both know where it is going to end up. Women could be so bloody complicated sometimes.

Katie looked down at the bed, almost afraid to meet his eyes. "Never for you."

There it was. That faint red stain that let him know he was in.

"Good." He moved and sat down on the bed next to her. "Because I think I owe you something… from the other night."

"Really?" She was slightly confused as she shifted and angled her shoulders towards him. "You do?

"Ya." Marcus grabbed her chin with his fingers and tilted her head towards him. "I do."

Slowly he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to hers. Letting his hand drop he placed it next to her on the bed, his other hand moving into the same position next to her other side. He lightly ran his tongue over her bottom lip and smiled when she automatically opened her mouth to him. Marcus leaned in more resting weight on both hands and forcing Katie to lean her body back in response. She giggled slightly as she almost fell backwards onto the mattress, his shear mass pushing her over. Instinctively he reached behind her wrapping his left arm around her and gliding her down until she lay flat underneath him. He shifted his legs placing one knee between her thighs. The slight crinkle of parchment beneath them made them both pause and laughed.

Marcus grabbed the stack of papers Katie had piled up.

"Where do you want these?"

"Um… just put them over there on the chair would ya?"

Marcus got up and walked them to the other side of the room where a large dingy red chair sat. He looked over his shoulder and saw Katie staring idly out the window. He carefully sat the stack down and walked back over to her.

"Now- where were we?" He smiled down wildly at her.

"Here I believe." She smiled back before leaning up and wrapping her arms around his neck. Kissing him hard she pulled him down on top of her. Marcus bent his left elbow and leaned weight on it, not wanting to crush her. He gently nudged his hips forward eliciting a small moan from the blond.

A rap at the door caught them both off guard and Katie quickly sat up pushing Marcus away as she did so.

"Y- ya?" Her voice was shaky and breathless as she spoke.

"Dinner. Molly says we are starting with or without you." Tonks' voice emanated from the other side of the door.

Katie glanced over at the clock hanging lopsided on the wall. 6:30 p.m.

"Shit." She wisped so only her and Marcus could hear. "Alright, be right there."

"Alright. Same goes for you Flint."

Marcus and Katie both went wide-eyed at each other.

"How in the fuck did she know that?" Marcus rubbed at the short hair on the back of his head.

"She's an Auror Flint." Katie shot him a look as she stood up and righted her clothing. "Now come on before we get ourselves into any more trouble."

"Alright, fine." He kissed her quickly again before walking out of the room.

Instead of following Katie downstairs Marcus made a quick stop back in his room. Once inside he made sure the door was firmly locked before he walked over to the side of his bed. Marcus made one last glace back at the door before he checked his pant's pocket- a few pieces of folded parchment hidden inside.


End file.
